


Whom The Gods Love

by josiemoone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Forgiveness, Illnesses, Love, Love/Hate, Marriage, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-10 14:59:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 90,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13503957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiemoone/pseuds/josiemoone
Summary: Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco has tired of the name attached to himself and leaves the Manor behind in search of some peace. What he doesn't expect is to run into a witch nine months into that peace—a witch who despises where Draco stands, but Draco cannot take his eyes away from her.





	1. Zeus

**Author's Note:**

> AN: This is a re-written story.  
> This piece was named before: Whom The Gods Love, Die Young, but in the re-writes, I chose to make the name smaller.  
> Since I have re-written this, wanted to tidy up more of the story I wanted to say a huge thank you to sunset-whispers who worked on this previously. However, I must say from this point on, all mistakes are my own. This piece is being re-written for myself, and as a gift to my husband who I first shared this story with when I was starting out. It will be updated periodically, maybe twice in one day, up until the 15th of February which is his birthday.  
> I wanted to give him something that I love, but also as untouched as possible by people other than me. A lot of this has been re-written, but the plot from before is the same with additional pieces or scenes.  
> Many thanks, Jo

****

**Zeus**

* * *

Draco Malfoy had once been a boy who believed that he could bring a statue to life, thinking with all he had that there was nothing he was not able to learn— _or_  be taught. He  _knew_  he was gifted; he  _knew_  he was special.

Draco may have been sheltered as a child, only seeing those in society his parents deemed fit, with them even hand-picking his friends. They were usually picked based on their own opinions of the families that had raised them, and their lineage. He had, however, been educated well over his years, with private tutors seeing him through his childhood. By the time his letter came, there was nothing Draco felt was out of reach, and with his mother often plying him with self-confidence, and his father having belief in him to do great, Draco had quickly built a false idea of who he was, and what was to be expected of him. Each night when he said goodnight to his parents, his mother would whisper—the same as she had done every night—that he was  _special_.

As Draco grew up, the harsh reality that he actually wasn't that special hacked away at his confidence—causing him to be more bitter than he wished to be, often ridiculing and bullying his way to the top. It didn't work, but secretly he knew it wouldn't, but everything else was out of reach. He couldn't be kind; he couldn't admit defeat—there were too many eyes always watching the  _Malfoy Heir_.

Draco  _never_  blamed his mother for any of it. She did what she thought was best, and for that, he would never be angry at her for it.

When the dust finally settled from the aftermath of the war, and the new order of things was put in place for the wizarding world, Draco found he didn't have a place. He looked lost to the people who knew him best. The once boisterous and headstrong boy, had become unsure of who he was now he had become a man—a man who was told as a child that when he grew up, there would be nothing to worry about. Those lies were the most difficult for him to swallow because there was so much to worry about, there was so much he needed to consider—and he hadn't prepared at all for it.

Draco realised—in the crumbling of his pedestal—he was now someone who was in control of his own choices, something he had never been up to this point. There was no history to be compared to; there was no further he could fall—the Malfoy's had hit rock bottom. He knew others would whisper, trade sarcastic jokes at his expense. Some might even say his fall from grace had knocked his usual infallible confidence, but it hadn't, he had chosen to shelf it, discover who he was once again.

In reality, it had been a blessing. Draco felt like he was encountering an awakening—a second chance. For so long it had felt as though he was buried in a deep sleep, not able to fight the clutches of those who kept him there, watching in horror as things occurred around him he knew was wrong.

When Draco took a real breath, one in the world that was now upside down, he felt like a new man. One that was bored of the same easy females that always succumbed to his flattery; the same idiotic men that followed him without thought. He even quickly tired of the same willful tactics that had pushed him up the ladder of society in the first place. Draco had enough of it all.

If he could, he would combust and start again, similar to a phoenix—but he didn't have that luxury to hand, he never really had. Instead, Draco chose to disappear. He still kept a chosen few around him—all ones he trusted with his life. The ones that would share the weight of his many issues, and be able to carry the baggage he had on his back—and most of that had been there before Potter defeated the devil.

As soon as the chance presented itself, and the Ministry had waved him off his charges—another thing  _Potter_  had arranged for him—he left the Manor. It didn't take him a day before he found the place he wished to reside in, settling for a small cottage in the middle of a quiet village he had only ever visited a few times. Overnight Draco overhauled his life, many saying it was  _just a phase_ , or  _he'd return to his obnoxiously selfish ways sooner or later_. Draco could have responded—he  _knew_  he could—but instead, he ignored them, rising above everything for once, and needing a simple and peaceful life more than anything. To him, those that raised their brows in scepticism to the ' _new him'_  were the ones that weren't as affected as Draco had been when the war came to an end. If they couldn't understand now, his words would have little change on the matter

As soon as he closed the door of the cottage, feeling much older now he was alone; it hit Draco all at once that he had been following the same malicious opinions his father believed in the entire time. If he had taken a step away, looked in on the situation, Draco would have been able to see that none of it was right, not a single death was necessary at all.

Sitting by the window that looked out over the fields on his first night alone, needing to make up for the many wrongs he had committed. With a quill in one hand, the other smoothing out the parchment, he watched as ink began to fill the formerly blank page. Draco wrote a letter to each person that he knew he had hurt. Not once in those letters did he ask for forgiveness, and he didn't give one excuse for his actions. Draco, instead, chose to remain honest—and brief with what he had to say. He didn't wish to ramble, and he didn't want to prolong the uncomfortableness of apologising to people, but he was pleasantly surprised at how easy the words spilt onto the parchment. Once he had finished, Draco stared for a minute at each handwritten envelope, and felt a small light glow inside of him; he sent them before he had a chance to throw them into the fire, feeling flickers cowardice beginning to grow at how open he had been.

For several days, Draco heard nothing, but it didn't surprise him. When an owl arrived on the fourth day, he paced the kitchen several times before opening it, and he was shocked to find the responses were much kinder than he deserved.

When the first month anniversary of him living in the cottage, he fought back the fear of rejection and applied to three jobs at the Ministry. It was difficult, writing his good qualities down without mentioning the bad—he wanted to say how those were a thing of the past, that he had changed, but each time he scribbled it down, it sounded childish and very unlike the person he wished to be. He needn't have worried, a letter arriving a day after Draco had sent his application, the job was his, and for the first time in a long time, he smiled genuinely as he got into bed.

When the third month of his life in the village arrived, Draco's like had found a perfect routine. He did, however, work despicable hours—in a job that he would have probably complained about when he was thirteen—but each day Draco found he smiled, even when speaking to the same people, day-after-day at the Ministry, where nothing ever changed.

Then, when six months arrived, Draco ventured out to the local pub, finding it wasn't as awful as he told himself it would be. It quickly became another regular thing he did; his eyes were always watching people, seeing how they lived their lives. The place—forsaking the village had a popular of nine people—was always full to the brim when he arrived, and the atmosphere was continuously bubbling with joy, something he had come to rather like.

Draco would always order the same drink on each visit. He would drink two, exchange a joke with the barman before walking home where he would fall asleep until the next morning. His routine had become so predictable that even the smallest change would set him on edge, making him unsure and uneasy. For instance, when the barman informed him that his usual whisky was unavailable, he stood at the bar entirely paralysed for several long minutes before ordering a beer—a drink he truly despised. When he informed Pansy of this, she had told him to get a life, and Draco decided against ever inviting her to his home in the village.

By nine months, Draco had begun to recognise the regulars—several of whom he could time to the minute of when they would arrive—filling the pub with their voices.

It was the very reason she had stood out, causing him to choke on his drink—one he had been enjoying. Draco rubbed his throat, watching her intently as he continued to clear his throat, and eventually, he found his noises brought her gaze upon him. Her eyes made him freeze, all of his blood going cold in his veins, his hair standing on edge all over his body. It had been a lifetime since he had seen her—or so it felt like—and he was sure the last time he had cast his eyes on her, Draco had belittled her for having a crush on him. Fuck he was egotistical.

However, at this moment, Draco wasn't sure if the wand was in the other hand, finding himself confused with feelings he didn't understand. He was utterly captivated by her, and it concerned him, to say the least.

She had grown into a woman in a way that had both surprised and embarrassed him, early memories of her being so small and  _frustratingly_  annoying sprang to his mind. Draco could recall how he had done nothing but tease her, all the while, her elder sister Daphne had laughed alongside him. Daphne would have done anything to please him back then, desperately seeking his attention even at the cost of hurting her sister—something Draco now felt disgusted at.

Draco knew Greengrass had never been here before—but he knew he couldn't rule out the village. He noticed every new person that came into the pub, and he knew their drink, friends all from watching them lose sensibilities. Draco had even chosen this place precisely to avoid wizards and witches who passed by. The village was always full of Muggles, something he didn't mind in the least, but for many who didn't live amongst them, it would surely warn them off.

It had  _apparently_  not done that to her, and he grew annoyed at that. Draco had picked this village because he wished to avoid any who knew him, allowing him to wallow in self-pity, avoiding the world that had quickly shunned him. Her being here made him nervous, she was too close, and the pressures of the world he merely worked in, made his body tingle with apprehension. This was his place, the place he could hide in, which he was unwilling to part with or share with anyone else.

Over the next few days, the sight of her remained burned into his mind like a photograph that had been erected in his head. Draco didn't want to think about her; he wanted nothing to do with her—so he avoided the pub. As minutes turned into hours, hours into days, the need for alcohol grew into a battle Draco wasn't sure he could win. He couldn't go; he couldn't let her see him. Draco didn't want to lose who he was becoming because of one person; he didn't want to lose the grasp he had in the village—the grip he had on the person he needed to be. Her presence, so it seemed, had rattled him more than he knew. At each turn in the village, Draco expected to see her. He was on such high alert; he was sure if anyone jumped out at him he would have performed accidental magic.

Fighting both the smoke of a person from his past and the crushing need for alcohol, Draco eventually snapped and surrendered, returning to the pub that Friday evening. His palms sweaty as he ordered his drink, both in nerves of seeing her and excitement at being able to drink. He sat in his spot in the pub, dark and right in the corner. Greengrass never came that evening, much to his delight. Draco, thinking it could have just been a fleeting visit, went to the pub the next night, and the one after. Each night without seeing her calmed him, settled the nerves that hadn't vanished, and his confidence grew with the barman once again.

It was on the fourth night when Draco saw her again, and he crumbled at the doorway of the pub. Anger burned inside of him as he felt the place—he had called his safe-haven for so long—was being invaded. He didn't speak to her again, ordering his drink and scurrying to his corner. But when he saw her a few nights later, and another after that, the temptation to go up and challenge her rose inside of him—like a dragon that couldn't be tamed. He wanted to speak to her, to make his presence known, but he didn't want to hand her power she couldn't contain—no one knew he lived here, and he liked the seclusion and privacy he had gained.

It was for this reason why Draco chose to watch her tentatively from across the room—studying her moves to see whether she was here to spy or not. He learnt that two nights a week she would come to the pub—she like him—ordered the same beverage, sat at the bar, and opened her bag retrieving whatever book she was currently reading.

Draco questioned whether she was looking for some escape from thoughts she found too heavy to carry, or if she was sent here to keep an eye on him, he rather hoped it was the former. The book in her hands and the clothes she wore were the only things that Draco ever noticed changed, further cementing the thought she was living closeby.

On a cold and wet November evening, something inside of Draco changed. He placed his glass firmly on the table as something began to build inside of him—something which he hadn't felt in so long, confidence. Draco had experienced a good day, people had listened to him, and he had made good progress on getting a bill passed at work. If he were to confront her on any day, it would be this one—he knew it, he felt it, like something was on his side, building him up from within.

Draco rose up from the table in the corner, he adjusted his jacket and tie, his eyes burning into her as he took one last look before he strode over to her. Each step he took, Draco attempted to ignore his pounding heart; each insistent bang against his ribcage that vibrated through him, as though it wished to be set free.

Greengrass looked up from her book before he had a chance to part his lips, her eyes hardening as she looked him up and down. All Draco could notice as he stood before her, a man who formerly teased her, was how stunning she was—and how deeply brown her eyes were.

Draco looked around, hoping the barman was out of earshot, but for all intents, he would play actor for this particular meeting. "Good evening,  _Miss_. I hope you don't mind, but I simply had to come over and introduce myself, you are,  _after all_ , the most beautiful woman in here," Draco said, extending his hand to shake hers, as he tried to smile sincerely.

Her eyes broke from burning holes in him, to his hand. Draco watched as a frown blossomed over her face, her jaw clenching before she lowered the book she was reading to the bar top. Greengrass slowly turned in the bar stool to face him, her back straighter than a pole and her squared body language making him question whether he should run.

He didn't. Instead, Draco pushed on. "I'm Draco. Draco  _Malfoy_."

Greengrass slowly placed her hands on her lap, ignoring his hand that was hovering in mid-air in front of her. All he could hear was ringing as embarrassment spread to the tip of his ears. Draco was rarely desperate, but at this moment, it was all he was. He needed her to say something because he couldn't take much more of the awkward silence that had fallen between them. If it continued, he was sure it would drive him mad.

She didn't seem to be a woman who was aiming to put him out of his misery, her eyes still staring into his, wishing to flame his soul. For what seemed like an eternity, Greengrass eventually made a sound, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth—and the noise seemed deafening in the silence between them.

His eyes remained firmly locked on her eyes, Draco didn't want to appear weak under her scrutiny, and he didn't want to bend in the way she apparently wished him too. He was still a Malfoy, even if the name was sullied and ruined.

"I feel with  _that_  introduction, I should be impressed," Greengrass said, her tone as icy as her brown eyes were. "But as you can see,  _I'm not_ , and I'm rather busy, reading the  _greats,_ I don't  _have time for people who are less than that._ "

He felt his spine stiffen as he retracted his hand, a smirk on his face appearing as she raised her brow at his expression.

"So, the rumours  _are_  true," Draco said, finding his old confidence. "You and your sister really are opposites." He licked his dry lips, watching as her eyes narrowed until they were slits. "Daphne would have fallen at my feet, but you, you never have. My, my, Astoria Greengrass has grown up and has managed to find her backbone."

The air crackled with tension. If not for the rowdy drinkers that were in the pub, the moment would have been far more painful. Draco knew he shouldn't have bitten, but he couldn't help himself—no one looked down on him like that here, and he wouldn't allow her to do it, not now, not after all he had built

Astoria softly licked her lips. "Are you happy with yourself,  _Malfoy_? Or are you hoping if you make snide remarks, it'll hurt my ego enough to throw myself at you? Because that won't be happening, I will not be throwing myself at you; you know that,  _surely_?" Draco could feel his cheeks beginning to burn, his mask of indifference struggling to stay in place. "For one, I'd have to ignore your  _horrible_  etiquette—especially being a Pureblood, you really should know better. And I won't be doing that, ignoring your terrible etiquette that is, as you rightly said, I am nothing like my sister who throws herself at anyone who is nice to her. I have standards, ones I adhere too."

He knew this was a dance of sorts, the two swirling around one another hoping to come out on top. Draco hated to admit it, but she was much stronger opponent than he thought.

Folding her arms, Draco noticed the twinkle in her eyes—she knew she was on top, it glowed from her soul. Astoria's lips rose to a smirk. "I'm sorry to tell you, Malfoy, you are not my type— _not, at, all_. I happen to loathe self-obsessed arseholes like yourself."

He continued to smirk, biting down on his lip to stop himself from bursting into anger. "I don't know what you're talking about," Draco replied as innocently as he could muster.

A smile passed fleetingly at his response as though she expected it. Her thin, bony fingers pushed a stray curl of hair behind her ear. "Stop me if this doesn't sound like your usual evening, but I presume after your initial introduction, you'd have offered to buy your conquest a drink. They'd become,  _putty_  in your hand, and you would wear that annoying smirk you're currently sporting," his smirk at that slowly faded, "and you'd be out that door, lips disgustingly attached to theirs. Frankly, it makes me feel rather sick at the thought—just like your aftershave does," she said bitterly.

He felt frozen in place, his brain having already short-circuited, not allowing him to bite back with a response. Astoria had silenced him, pinning him down as she lorded over him how well she knew him—and how disgusting his former life had been.

Lifting her glass to her lips, she drained the last bit of alcohol. "You think I have the same beliefs as you because I'm from, how would you describe it,  _old blood_? To quote a very fabulous Muggle quote,  _you are barking up the wrong tree_ , Malfoy. I would rather appreciate it, if you simply,  _fucked_  off."

"I do not know what you think—"

"I think that you happen to believe I might be something you fancy for tonight. I think you are someone that has rarely been told no, and someone who also believes that whatever you do want, will be handed to you on a silver platter. I'm sorry to tell you, but that's not how things work. Not out here. Not everyone gets to eat by taking, Malfoy. You  _earn_  your food," she stated, looking at him with disgust.

Draco swallowed back his reply, just catching the way her eyes fell to his lips—just for a moment—before she purposefully met his gaze once more. He didn't miss the slight blush on her cheeks telling him everything he needed to know—she still thought he was handsome, even after everything else she had fired at him.

Astoria dropped her from the stool, standing before him, level with his chin. "I will level with you because we were once such  _good friends_." The last two words were laced with so much sarcasm it hurt Draco, just a fraction. "You have and always were a  _horrid_  bully. You don't know anything but being cruel; it's cemented its way into your veins. And, Malfoy, I am offended that now I've grown into something  _marginally_  interesting, you think it is appropriate to flirt with me." She rose her hand to retrieve her book and bag. "I am not one, and never will be, one of your many conquests who open their legs at the sound of gold in your pocket or flattering words that roll off your tongue. So, it is a firm no from me, but I do applaud you for finally having the nerve to talk to me. The way you have been watching me was becoming rather tedious."

Shoving her book into her bag, she smiled sweetly at him. "I hope you have better luck with the next one and that you have an enjoyable evening.  _Goodnight_ , Malfoy."

With that Astoria turned and walked out of the pub, leaving him stood there like a fool. It took Draco a few seconds to realise he hadn't followed her or made any move to walk away from the place he had been shot down at. He also recognised he probably looked somewhat like a fish, continually opening and closing his mouth—he quickly shut it, turning on the spot as he headed back to his table, shame bubbling in his chest.

* * *

oOo


	2. Aeolus

**Aeolus**

* * *

Draco didn't sleep the night after the encounter in the pub. If he was truthful, he didn't sleep soundly for the next week. Astoria Greengrass had picked up her bags and moved into Draco Malfoy's brain, unwilling to move from it. She tainted his visits to the pub, his hands being shoved into his pockets as he snarled walking past, too afraid to go in and see her smirk or glittering eyes.

He felt a mixture of emotions he had never really felt when it came to her. For one, he had never been shut down quite so brutally by a woman before—and for that he admired her. Then, he felt contempt at how quickly he had been broken, feeling the building blocks falling to his feet, and he wasn't sure who he was anymore. Every single thing Astoria had said was correct, and Draco couldn't run from it anymore—he couldn't pretend he had become someone better if no one else's opinions of him changed.

It took Draco two weeks to eventually return to the pub, and even as he did, it wasn't for the alcohol, but to prove to her he wasn't going anywhere. He was disappointed to find she wasn't there when he entered, and so Draco sat in his corner, silently seething as he waited to show her how unafraid he was. It was hours until Astoria arrived, and by that point, he felt foolish—but the sight of her surprised face did make him softly smile to himself. He made no effort to catch her eye, merely staring down at the menu for the billionth time—questioning what on earth the difference between a Shepherd and a Cottage pie was, not that he would eat either. Draco attempted to block out her stare, instead focusing on the sounds of disgraceful displays around him. When both of those ceased to amuse him, he tried to count how many glasses were on the back wall of the bar.

When he had caught sight of her, it had never crossed his mind to apologise to her and re-introduce himself in a way she may find likeable. Draco hadn't even thought that showing her he was trying to change could earn him more respect that his new game of 'the-ignore-and-hook-the-girl' method—the same one he had used at Hogwarts. Draco didn't want to admit he wasn't as smart as her, already feeling inferior to a certain witch at work who always flaunted her intelligence over him, just as she had at school. Astoria was, however, not like any other woman he had been around—she didn't bite, she didn't surrender. Instead, she paid attention to her book, and giving him a taste of his own medicine, one he found was quite bitter.

It had been half an hour since he had stopped trying to ignore her, and Draco only caught sight of her putting her book away because someone behind her dropped a glass. He had drifted off, thinking about anything and everything peacefully, something he hadn't been able to do in years. Draco couldn't help but watch her put her coat on, the fabric gliding over her arms as she flicked her hair out of the colours, the brunette curls catching the dim lights, shining like a Muggle shampoo advert. He despised how beautiful she was because he knew he didn't deserve her presence, never mind the chance even to see something as stunning as her.

Draco had never had that thought before, and it didn't sit right in his chest. It twisted his stomach, making him uncomfortable and needing solitude. He rose similarily to her, not catching her eye as he did, and moved to the doorway. He let out a heavy sigh, unsure if he should turn around and face her, ask her for a chance to prove himself—but his skin prickled with nerves and fear, and he didn't wish to expose any more of himself to her, not yet anyway.

He pulled open the door, pushing it behind him as he heard a small thank you, but he ignored the voice, not able to register the kindness laced it in—not until the last moment. He froze, his feet clamped to the ground as though someone had waved a wand over him. Draco could feel his skin going cold, and the realisation rained down on him as to who the voice belonged to.

Draco turned on his heels, doing a 180 in the street as he caught the back of her walking away from him. His heart thumped in his chest, his fingers flexing out as he considered the likeliness of her being rude again.

It took him a second or two to realise his feet had begun to move, his body hurrying after her; the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement was like the beat to a song not yet born, his legs breaking into a run as he tried to catch up with her. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins, watching her whip around the corner, and so he quickly followed with such energy that he nearly walked into her.

A smirk graced her pink lips, her eyes glittering with power and intelligence once more. She'd been waiting for him, and he immediately wanted to storm away, disgruntled by her presence once more.

"Malfoy," she said with a growing smirk. "How wonderful to see you again, running into me, on my way home."

He licked his lips, needing a second to think of something—anything. "Greengrass," he replied in mock surprise. "I had no—"

"Don't even attempt to lie to me, you are following me."

Draco clapped a hand to his chest, feigning innocence and surprise, although he knew she wouldn't buy it. Faking and lying seemed a much better option than admitting he was following her to apologise—anything seemed better than admitting that.

His lips spread into a smirk, one which was proudly worn by most Slytherins. "No my dear, Greengrass, I think you're very much mistaken." His voice was purposefully sounding posher, more sophisticated, just to mock her and her ridiculously proper tone. "I'm also on my way home. Unless of course, you want me to follow you? I'd happily oblige if that is what the lady wishes?"

Astoria rolled her eyes, annoyance fluttering in her eyes. Her hands crossed over her chest, her bag danging down between them. "You heavily underestimate me. Your ignorant assumptions are offensive, and you are a liar."

Leaning against the outside wall of the house that they were on the corner of, Draco smirked as he loomed over her petite figure, her face seeming paler than usual.

"I know that you do not live on this street," Astoria snarled, all matter of factly.

Draco tilted his head, using the tip of his tongue to part his lips. "How interesting that you would know that, Greengrass."

He noticed how her brown eyes flashed with rage as she glared at him, shimmers of black swirling in them as she continued to hold his eyesight. In a flash, her rage had gone as though she remembered her mask and put it into place promptly.

Astoria stepped closer, bridging the gap between them a little more. She wasn't fearful of him, and Draco didn't know how to feel about it. "I know you don't because your very kind, and handsome, friend informed me. Well, if we are being truthful, he warned me to be more exact. He did not wish for someone like me, to be near a man like you," she stated.

His stomach knotted with unease at what she had said. Someone had told her—specifically told her where he lived. Draco's fingers closed into a fist, his nails digging into his palm as he attempted to seem unfazed, although he was anything but.

Astoria hadn't seemed to notice, to busy focusing on lording over him as she smiled sweetly, feigning innocence he didn't believe in. "I will add that it was in reference to your choices in women," she smiled, as if she had read his thoughts. "You are someone who respects no one, especially women, and your friend didn't wish for me to be on the receiving end of that."

"You don't know me at all," he replied, icily.

A light laugh escaped her lips, her eyes softening for a moment as she looked at the ground before holding his gaze. "I am simply stating what I see when I look at you. You do not see me for who I am, so, why should I treat you any different? You see my body; you see Daphne's foolish little sister, but, most of all, you still see a timid child. The thing is I am nothing like I was when you knew me; I am not like anyone else."

Draco wanted to reply that he positively did not see a child when he looked at her, but even he knew this was not the right time for such confessions.

Astoria took another step closer, and he could smell her perfume—tropical and strong, nothing like he expected her to wear. "You really wish to know why I put you in your place for trying and failing to talk to me?" Astoria asked. "Why I didn't fall at your feet like others clearly do? Why I can push past your charm and handsome face, and ridicule you?"

Unsure whether to answer, Draco moved away from the wall to stand up straight moving his hands to his sides, unflexing his closed fist. She was in such proximity, so close he was able to study her face more than he had in the pub—even with the night light, and cold chill causing her to wrap her coat around herself.

"It is because I am worth  _more_  than your pathetic pickup lines or a one night stand. What I want in my life, is completely different to what you want. And, before you ask how I know what you want, it's written all over your ridiculously  _attractive_  face. I am the  _prize_ , Malfoy. I'm the breakfast, lunch and dinner. I'm not the snack you have before you have what you really want. I'm the one someone marries;  _I'm the end goal_."

Draco stepped away from the wall; the gap nearly closed between them. "You think of yourself rather  _highly_ , don't you, Greengrass?"

She held her head slightly higher, meeting his glare with an even sharper one of her own, even as she had to look up to meet his. Astoria wouldn't be falling over her heels for him, and he didn't want her too, he rather enjoyed this, them. She was fire twisting in the day and the night, Astoria was untamed with nothing holding her in place, and all the while so controlled, not giving him anything. It mesmerised Draco immensely, more than he cared to acknowledge.

Her cheeks tensed as she pursed her lips. "Someone has to. Not everyone is born with  _someone_  to boost their ego when they're having an identity crisis or an army of idiotic whores begging to be used to meet your  _gratification_."

Draco felt the crackle of tension between them, the air buckling under the array of emotions both were experiencing, but he couldn't resist pushing—he couldn't stop himself from continuing to mock her. "Poor little, Greengrass, has it been  _extremely_  lonely for you in the shadow of your sister's happiness?"

It was far too late by the time Draco had realised he had gone too far. The moment the words came out of his mouth, her eyes filled with fire that wanted to implode him, smoke that wished to suffocate him, and then ice which cut into him, slicing down every layer on him until there was nothing left. Astoria's glare engulfed him with such hatred as she moved closer, her finger extended as if it was her wand, and she pressed into his chest with such force he stepped back. His heartbeat quickened, thudding in his ears and throat as he tried to appear calm and unaffected by her.

"My sister?  _My sister_  wouldn't know happiness if it got up and hexed her in the face," Astoria spat with such malice, such repressed anger that it whipped him in the face. "If conforming to  _archaic_  ideals and wearing uncomfortable,  _corseted_  dresses just for lunch in the  _fucking_  parlour is  _happiness_ ; I'd rather be miserable stuck in a ditch somewhere. I am nothing like her, and you, know nothing about me. You think that you are the  _only one_  with problems. You think that you are the only one who has something to prove. Well, guess what, Malfoy? You're  _not_! You are not the only one that needs—"

"Greengrass, I'm  _sor_ –"

Her finger had retracted into her palm, swallowed by her fist; her hand pulling back to her chest, and he wondered if she was going to punch him. It wouldn't be the first time he was walloped by a girl, and Draco knew with his insensitivity record, it wouldn't be the last.

"Save it for someone who cares for  _weak_  apologies, Malfoy. Just stay out of my way, or I will do more than punch your pretty, fucking face," she snarled.

Astoria spun on her heel so rapidly her loose curls hit him in the face; he blinked several times, water springing to his eyes from her hair. When he regained his vision, her frame was far in the distance, storming down the empty street. His hand grazed where her hair had touched him, and he couldn't fight the snigger that left his throat as he walked in the opposite direction, his thoughts, once again were solely on her—and he was  _tired_  of fighting it.

* * *

Draco had realised that under immense stress or pressure, everything around him annoyed him. Usually, it was others happiness, on occasion, it was the brightness of someone's robes, today, however, it was the sound of others eating. It irked him far more than he cared to admit; the clashing of cutlery against plates, glasses clinking against each other. It all seemed much louder than it was and it was almost giving him a headache. It should have been something that he was used to, having spent far too much time attending lunches and dinners in restaurants of such grandeur, but today he wished for fingers and hands, paper cups and beverages he couldn't understand.

He often made excuses to avoid meeting with any of his old friends, especially in places like this one. It wasn't because they looked at him with sheer disgust like the rest of the world did, but because he was somewhat picky when choosing where to go. Many restaurants didn't wish to have an ex, albeit, failed Death Eater ruin their reputation.

The few places that allowed him entry were because of how good Pansy was at blackmailing the owners. She was prickly, sarcastic and cunning; her voice was always loud and annoying—when it needed to be. It was all teamed perfectly with a fantastic pair of breasts, all of which, she was rather proud of and didn't stop talking about as soon as the conversation arose.

She was the crowned best friend—if crowns were given for such things; Pansy had always been and always would be his confidant—the one he trusted the most.

The two of them had grown up together, their parents had always been friends, long before either of them were born. The two of them had shared a few explosive, and painful arguments, the scar on his left-hand was perfect evidence of one—she had thrown a charmed quill at him for insulting her haircut when they were eight. They had never gone more than a day without speaking, including their horrid sixth year when Draco was more corpse than human. Even when they had attempted to date they hadn't changed how they were with each other, and when it ultimately came to an end—as they had both secretly suspected it would—neither of them allowed it to ruin their friendship. If either of them could call screwing each other's brains out dating.

Pansy Parkinson was the only one he could be frank with, and know that whatever response he got was the truth. She never questioned how he felt, and she never asked if he had made the right choice—she simply stood by him, whether she agreed or not. Pansy respected him, standing up for him when so many wouldn't give him the time of day, and even when he had been a prized bellend, Pansy never stopped being his friend. Although Pansy looked as hard as stone—as though nothing could ever upset her—Draco knew the real her, the emotional, caring side of her.

In so many ways, she was his rock. Pansy had been the one to pull him from wallowing in self-pity; she was the one who cared for him without asking for anything in return even after his trial. Pansy had put her good name on the line to help him secure a job, and she didn't berate him when he refused to take it. When the need for Firewhisky reached new heights, Pansy didn't push him to get help, she instead drank with him until it had all gone, and then barred him from buying any more. If it weren't for Pansy Parkinson, he wouldn't be a man sat across from her, he was sure he'd be dead, uncared for, decomposing in the ground.

To some, she was a harsh cocktail of bad qualities, but to Draco, it made her one of the best people he knew, by far. It was the exact reason why he had always struggled to lie to her. Even now, when he didn't want to answer, and he had left her question lingering in the air as he tried to think of how best to explain his answer.

"I hope you realise that I will get an answer out of you one way or the other," Pansy said, her scarlet lips curling into a smirk. "Fine, I shall rephrase. Are you currently seeing anyone?"

"No."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Then what took you so long to answer? I'm beginning to wonder whether you even have a brain at all," she said, arching her brows. Her manicured nails were tapping against the wood of their dinner table more annoyingly than before. "I think you should date someone, get out there, break some headboards and snap some bedsprings."

Draco sighed as he sat back in his chair to stare at her, "What have you been doing since the last time I saw you?"

A wicked smile lit up her face as she raised her glass to her lips, spreading out her fingers flat against the wood, and Draco relaxed free from the hammering noise of her nails. Pansy licked the wine from her lips. "What do you think? I've been breaking headboards and snapping bedsprings; collecting egos and wearing fine lace, of course, it's rather therapeutic, you know."

He couldn't fight rolling his eyes. "Who is it this time, Pansy?"

"I don't think you have enough time to hear about my growing list of admirers," she said, dismissively as she stared fleetingly at the menu.

That response meant only one thing, it was someone he wouldn't approve of—another thing he was never allowed to argue with her about. "Pansy," he said, his steely grey eyes glancing at her threateningly.

Pansy scoffed as her eyes darkened. "Fine! It's just the one guy. We aren't serious, though so don't worry. We just enjoy sinking our teeth into one another—"

"Oh, Merlin, save me," he muttered.

"—We also share a deep-seeded love for sarcasm and fine wine," Pansy said, shrugging her shoulders. "See, it's nothing serious."

Draco glared at her. "Well, it sounds serious if you're sharing your favourite wines."

Pansy snorted, her eyes trailing someone who had come into the restaurant, and Draco tried not to glare at her for it. "Anything sounds serious to a recluse who once had a sex addiction," she teased, meeting his eyes at the last word.

Draco's eyes narrowed at her words, his jaw clenching. "I did not have a sex addiction. I was merely stressed—"

"Yes, yes," she replied, feigning a yawn at his defence.

He took his eyes from her, choosing to focus on the salt and pepper shaker that was currently sparring on the table. "And another thing, I'm not a recluse," Draco snarled, watching the pepper shaker knock over the salt, and was now silently cheering at his victory.

"Of course you aren't," she said, patronisingly. She reached over the table to squeeze his hand, reassuringly. "You just happen to like your own company, lie to your friends about where you live, so they don't invite themselves round. That is entirely normal." Her hand beginning to pat his. "There, there, you're perfectly normal, Draco."

He shook his head in disbelief while a small smile appeared on his lips, not able to argue at all with her points. As he met her gaze, he noticed that her eyes had softened. "I saw Greengrass."

"Daphne? When?"

"No," Draco said, raising his brow. "Not Daphne, Astoria."

Pansy was staring at her nails, looking deep in thought for a second before she finally spoke, "I heard that she left the family estate, Daphne hasn't seen her in a month."

Draco shrugged lightly; it at least explained why he had only recently seen her. "Yeah, well, she's in my village," he stated, his free hand reaching for his glass of wine. He smiled at the way her fingers massaged the back of his free hand; her eyes still fixed on her other hand. "We shared... words."

She looked at him with a raised brow, clearly wanting to know more. "I assume that little Greengrass is still innocent and carefree?"

"Pansy," he warned.

"What?" she asked. Laughing as she patted his hand before she let go to straighten the creases out of her napkin. Their empty plates magically disappeared, before their first course was served. "I just hear things."

Draco could only imagine the things she heard. Gossip was a personal hobby of Pansy's. She had always been a part of a gossip circle, but it had only intensified once they had left Hogwarts, and nothing ever stayed quiet for long with them around. He wasn't one to complain, the things he'd learnt from her had proven useful when the other Slytherins' had attempted to wind him up. Pansy was gifted at giving him the information he could use as a weapon, and she would snort on cue as though it was the first time she had heard it.

He sat up straighter in the chair. "She looks...good," he said, not meeting Pansy's gaze.

Pansy's mouth almost fell open; she stared at him, clearly in shock. "You..."

"Do not over think this, she just does okay?" he stated, cutting her off quickly. "Do not make a big deal out of this, promise me?"

She leant back in her chair, studying him for a second. "Fine! You're just lucky that I have an amazing lobster to eat right now," Pansy said, grinning as she started to eat. "It is my favourite."

"And there I was, thinking small children were your favourite delicacy," he sniggered.

She paused, lowering her fork to her plate as she met his gaze, smirking. "I've grown tired of immature children, if you haven't already noticed, I feast on men now, Malfoy. Especially ones who say nasty things to me—those I find are delicious."

"Merlin, I love you," he said, laughing as she pouted.

Pansy grinned—a smile that was only ever his. "I love you, too."

* * *

oOo


	3. Janus

**Janus**

* * *

Every Sunday Draco would visit his mother at the Manor—and every single visit, his father would always mysteriously make himself scarce. His mother would lead him to the glass parlous, the two of them sharing tea as they walked down memory lane—often dodging around the uncomfortable topics,  _like Lucius_.

Their  _'date'_  only changed on the last Sunday of every month. The two of them charming brollies— if needed—and they would walk around the vast gardens the Manor had. Draco would link arms with his mother, leading her around the beautifully kept flowers and she would share tales he had heard a thousand times; Draco never once bored of them. The way his mother glowed on those Sunday's could make him forget she had ever gone through such horrid years. Their thoughts never fell to the husband and father who had hidden himself in a room somewhere, until they would walk past the lawn where the peacocks used to strut, and Draco would bite his tongue to stop himself from saying anything.

It was the only time that he saw his mother smile, the way she had when he had been a child; before they had to hide joy in fear of their lives being taken. Even the way she carried herself around the garden, it was with the same confidence his mother had at Balls and Galas. She dressed like the Narcissa Malfoy of yesteryears when he came to visit, not the housebound woman that had replaced her.

"When are you going to settle down, Draco?" Narcissa asked, her hand stroking his gently as they sat outside on the patio of the parlour. "There are so many women who  _have_  expressed..." she trailed off the moment she met his gaze, his icy stare telling her to stop.

Without another word, he wrapped his fingers around her delicate ones. A smile crept across his lips as he stared at their hands, how her hand had seemed so much bigger compared to his when he had been younger, yet, now the roles had reversed, with his making hers look so dainty.

His mother frowned intensely, as though burdened with a weight she couldn't carry. "You seem sad, Draco."

"Do I?" he asked, hoping to conjure a twinkle in his eyes to banish her doubts.

She nodded, not believing his lie. "A mother always knows, Draco. A mother, always, knows."

Draco let his eyes wander past her, staring out over the gardens he once felt free in. The place where he had spent so many hours wishing to go out into the 'real world', to explore everything it had to offer. Now he had the chance too, Draco truly wanted to travel back in time; going back to those days and stay in the safe confines of the garden.

No one could judge him here; no one could hurt him, or his mother. They could be safe and happy; their laughter would ricochet off the walls of their home—smiles would never be forced. Blood wouldn't have become part of the woodwork, falling from someone so innocent—someone he had to work beside. Draco knew he wouldn't have nightmares of monsters living in the Manor; Draco wouldn't fear when he woke up from them or jump at noises when he was alone. He wouldn't fear the darkness as much as he did now; he wouldn't be weighted with woes he didn't quite understand.

Draco tried to smile in the face of his sadness, she needed him too—his mother needed to know he was happy. "You used to say that to me when I had done something wrong," he smiled.

Straightening herself in the wooden chair, Narcissa removed her hand from his, her fingers adjusting the bracelet on her wrist—the one he had repurchased after the Ministry had sold some of her possessions. "I knew then, and I know now when something is wrong. It's an instinct that never dies when you become a parent," she replied with purpose.

Draco felt annoyance trickle down his spine, words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. "Maybe you should have put those instincts of yours to good use when I was at school," he said calmly, although he felt anything but, his eyes looking anywhere but at hers, not needing to see the pain in her eyes.

"Draco," Narcissa warned in a soft yet rather threatening tone. "You  _must_  know that if I could go back and change things—"

"You would," he finished as she nodded. "I know, Mother. I should not blame you. No one had a  _wand_  to my head."

Narcissa dipped her head, regret and pain forcing her to bend, and it was a sight Draco never wished to see—even if he knew he had caused it. "Not physically, but your hand was guided to do those things," she said, regret swirling in her tone. "I would have done anything to change places with you, anything."

Draco nodded. "I know, I'm sorry."

* * *

Entering the Hog's Head, Draco coughed from the dust in the air that greeted him. He still didn't understand why his friends chose to meet here of all places and when he had brought this up on several occasions, he was met with blank stares, as though this place was the best thing ever. It was not, and secretly, Draco knew they agreed.

"How great of you to find the time in your  _busy_  schedule to  _wet_  your  _whistle_  with us old boy," Blaise laughed as Draco sat down at their table. Theo rolled his eyes at him, nodding a hello at Draco as he removed his scarf. "We wondered if you ever would come down from your  _steeple_ ," Blaise added.

Draco frowned. "My  _what_?"

Theo moved his chair closer to him, the wood creaking against the floor as Blaise chuckled to himself. While Draco didn't like anyone to be so close to him, Theo was one he liked to keep at arm's length—not because Theo was a flirtatious beast who didn't know when to stop, but because he didn't stop trying to put his finger in Draco's ear. He had hated it as a child, Draco hated it far more as an adult.

"Theo is under the impression that you've found  _religion_  or something," Blaise explained.

Draco chuckled. "Because a church wouldn't  _implode_  the moment I stepped inside," Draco replied with a smirk. Blaise clapped his hand on his own thigh before laughing loudly, and Draco spun his head to meet Theo's stare. "How and why, is Zabini so fucking wasted?"

Theo sighed profoundly, full of disdain for the topic he was about to share. He was all set to answer Dracos' question when a cold breeze rippled through the place, and Blaise suddenly stood up, shouting, " _DAPHNE_!"

Draco turned to look at the female that had just entered the Hog's Head, an unlikely place for her to haunt. His eyes met the warm pair that had fallen to his— a broad smile extending over Daphne's face at him being here. Draco was moving to stand up, all ready to stride over and greet his old school friend when another pair of eyes met his, causing him to lose his breath and confidence in a heartbeat. Those eyes were not as warm as Daphne's, nor were they kind; they were filled with icy contempt and fell onto him immediately.

Theo grabbed the back of his shirt, forcing him back to Draco's chair. "And there, my friend, is your  _bloody_  answer," Theo said in a whisper, raising his glass to his mouth and taking a long drink. "Only that  _twat_  could go and start a relationship with a girl who is engaged."

Draco's mouth fell open in feigned shock, having already been aware of their tryst from Pansy at dinner. Pansy had about burst when she finally told him, her eyes bubbling with excitement as she disproved all the times at Hogwarts when Blaise and Daphne had said their trysts were  _'mistakes'_. Draco could only smirk as he watched Daphne trying to seem friendly, but not too friendly, to Blaise in public—especially knowing the disgusting details of what they did when they weren't in society.

Blaise staggered as he held his glass in the air, the liquid sloshing from side to side. Daphne and Astoria both shared the same expression—both utterly equally disgusted at Blaise' display—but much to Astoria's horror, Daphne still walked closer to him, taking the glass from his hand as Blaise smiled.

"You brought  _baby_  Greengrass with you!" Blaise exclaimed, grinning.

Astoria growled. "My name  _is Astoria_ ," she said bitterly, before turning to her sister with a look of displeasure, dropping her voice so only her sister could hear. "Really, Daphne? Of all the men you could have chosen to mess about with, you picked  _him_?"

Draco read Astoria's lips, smirking at the words as they left hers and reached Daphne's ears. Daphne, however, didn't respond in a whisper, proudly smiling with a rose tint to her lips. "He's not all bad, you know."

Astoria snorted and moved past her sister, and Blaise, grabbing a stool from beside her as she slammed it into the floor. Draco bit back a laugh at her childish behaviour—knowing if he were her, his attitude wouldn't be much better.

When Daphne had finally wrestled Blaise into his seat, and Daphne had managed to procure her own, the table became suddenly uncomfortable. Everyone was staring around, the five of them cramped around the small, round table, no one knowing what to say. It was worsened when Blaise slid his arm around Daphne's, pulling her close to have a private conversation that was loud enough for them to hear—much to Astoria's disgust.

Theo, who was busy pretending he was not even sat with them, scanned the bar for a poor soul he could emasculate, and then bed. Which left Draco to awkwardly stare at the petite woman sat opposite him—who apparently did not wish to be here. She didn't even look like she had known she was coming here, her dress far too fancy for a dark wizarding pub.

Draco hadn't seen the two sisters together since the war, and now they had both grown into women, their similarities were far less than when they had been children. If not for the shape of their eyes or the shortness of their nose, Draco would not have been able to tell they were related, never mind sisters. Daphne was light, innocent with blonde hair and bright eyes; Astoria had dark eyes and darker hair, but had a brain that Daphne did not.

He decided—after drinking most of Theo's drink, which so far Theo was unaware of—to bite the spell and ask Astoria a question. The tension growing, not helped by Daphne and Blaise' clear whisper argument beside them.

"So…Greengrass, what  _were_  your plans for tonight?"

Astoria sighed. "I am not going to sleep with you if that is what you are thinking," she said, her brown eyes not breaking contact with the side of her sister's head. " _Desperation_  only flows through my sister it would seem."

Draco bit on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing, which he found Theo was also struggling to do. The sandy-haired boy's body was shaking with silent laughter. "I was  _merely_  attempting to make conversation," Draco said.

"Well, you are  _quite_  poor at it," she retorted sharply.

He shrugged off the insult, hoping Theo wasn't listening in anymore—he didn't need to hear about this tomorrow. "Maybe that is down to you  _rather_  than me," Draco replied dryly, as he attempted to control the anger that was bubbling up inside of him at the way she spoke to him.

Astoria shuffled in her seat, moving away from Blaise and Daphne—who were now kissing furiously. Her dark eyes glared directly into him, and it was clear how much she hated being here. But, it was the occasional sparkle that lingered in the depths as she looked at him, that he couldn't help looking for as she tried to gut him with her stare.

"Maybe I just  _don't_  want to talk to you. Just because some of us have forgotten what an  _egotistical_  pig you once were, doesn't mean all of us have," Astoria said, icily—her eyes sizing up Daphne and Blaise as she groaned at the sight.

Draco leant across the table, rolling his lips as he looked her up and down. "Greengrass, if I hurt your feelings when we were at school, all you had to do was tell me so. It isn't  _beneath_  me to apologise," he said, teasingly, watching her face twist in anger.

He didn't hide how much he was enjoying seeing her react, watching as her jaw clench and her neck become pink under his scrutiny. Astoria had that look on her face, the one where she wished she was fire so she could smother him and turn him into ash. Linking his fingers together as he tapped his hands into the table, he couldn't help but realise how alive she made him feel—giving him as good as she got, challenging him, being unafraid to question him. It felt good, it felt needed, and Draco wanted so much more of it, of her—of them together.

He braced for her onslaught of words, her lips curling as he waited patiently for her bitterness—but it never came. Astoria flicked her eyes from him to her sister—who was currently rubbing her hand down Blaise' chest—before hacking in disgust.

"Daphne, I am going home,  _enjoy_  your…evening," Astoria snarled, screwing her face as her sister broke away from Blaise's lips for air, finally turning to look at her little sister before continuing with her consumption of Blaise. Clearly underwhelmed with her sister's protest for her to stay, Astoria met Draco's gaze. "Oh and Draco,  _bite me_."

His lips curled up into a proud smirk as he watched her hurry to the door, her face contorted in a furious display. "Oh,  _Greengrass_?" The brunette paused at the door as she clenched her cheeks. "You give me the time and the place, and I will  _sink my teeth_ into  _you anytime_."

Astoria stuck up her middle finger, yanking open the door as the extreme wind hurried into the place, sweeping around their table. Draco chuckled to himself, moving to get Theo's drink only to find it gone.

"Having  _fun_?" Theo asked, his brows arched in mild amusement, swirling the liquid in his glass.

Draco tried to banish the smirk from his face. "No..." Draco said, grabbing Blaise's glass as he rose it to his lips. "Okay, maybe a little."

Theo shook his head, smiling. "It's  _dangerous_."

"What is?"

Theo laughed. "You and her. You two are a match made in hell; you realise that right? The uncontrollable with the controlling," Theo said as he continued to shake his head. His sandy curls remaining fixed in place as Draco pondered how strong his fixing spell had been. "Blood will be spilled. The land would burn down at its feet, and the town's people would cry out in horror as you two kissed."

Draco groaned into his glass. " _Fucking_  hell, Nott, do you always have to be this depressing?"

Theo simply shrugged before taking the glass from Draco's hand finishing off the rest of the alcohol in what was formerly Blaise' glass.

"I am  _merely_  teasing her. That is all," Draco said, trying hard to justify himself but he knew he was failing miserably.

"You merely like her," Theo taunted. "Don't give me the 'big I am' display, Draco, because you know I can see right through it. I haven't seen you spar with someone quite like that since Parkinson had your balls in her steel-like-grasp. And what a painful few months that was."

Draco rolled his eyes, knowing exactly where this was going and finding himself not drunk enough to listen to it. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Theodore. Surely your attention can be better placed relieving your own pent up  _sexual frustration_ rather than focusing on mine."

Theo drained a glass that Draco had no idea who it belonged to, before watching Theo's eyes wander to an unsuspecting target. Draco didn't need to turn around to see who had caught his friend's eye—Theo had a type. Built, tanned, and a man from out of town. "I am fantastic at multitasking, Malfoy. It's exactly what every man needs."

"Not this one," Draco said.

Theo rose from his chair, resting his hand on Draco's shoulder, he bent close to his ear and whispered. "As if  _you_  could get me."

* * *

Draco awoke from his deep sleep well rested and in a somewhat happy mood, taking the time to stretch out in his king size bed. It was mornings like this when he was grateful he didn't feel the need to sleep with a girl every night like he once did; enjoying the space being alone welcomed him. The sunshine dripped in through the open curtains, and Draco smiled at the sight of the fields at the back of his house, fighting the frost that usually blanketed them. The green, luscious grass waving in the breeze, that he assumed was cold, but soft. Then he noticed the woman—the one always in the fields— wandering as she stared at something in her hand, and for some reason, he couldn't help but smile.

Draco had recognised her immediately when she first walked towards the large oak tree. Her hair pinned up at the back—like only a Pureblood would—and her petite frame was more than recognisable in the plump sea of women in the village. It seemed the fields, which were filled with tall grass and wildflowers, appreciated her presence as much as she enjoyed the fields.

The sound of clattering from downstairs made him groan. Memories of the night before coming back to him, as he realised that he was not as alone as he had initially thought. The drunk singing on the way to his home suddenly came back to him; the emotionally charged rant from Blaise as he tried to drink whisky from a mug—and Draco groaned in embarrassment. But what stood out most of all to Draco, was Blaise—the biggest womaniser to hit Wizarding Britain—had admitted he had fallen for the one witch who was engaged to get married. Draco ran over the memories that he could remember, hating himself for his blasé attitude towards his longtime friend's pain as guilt washed over him at how he had reacted.

_"What should I do?"_

_"Nothing," Draco said. "She's happy, right?"_

_Blaise shrugged, hiding his face the best he could in the mug he was drinking from._

_"Do you want to marry her?"_

_Blaise shrugged again. "Not really, no."_

_"You want what you can't have. That's it."_

_"Easy for you to say," Blaise snarled bitterly, downing the rest of the alcohol that remained in his mug._

Getting out of bed, Draco pulled on the silk robe he had left over the chair, letting his eyes return to look out of his bedroom window. He managed to catch a glimpse of Astoria's leg disappearing under the overhang of leaves. For some reason, he liked to know she had managed to climb in—needing to know she was safe, as though he had any right to care.

He sat back down on the mattress, running a hand over his face as he tried to think of a way he could apologise without going overboard. Apologies, after all, were not his forte. Draco also had to think of a logical way to explain why he lived in the small village he did, and the moment he would be finished explaining, the wall of lies he had expertly built would come crashing down—and he truly didn't know what to do without the wall being there.

Then, as memories you wish to forget usually do, one particular one came back and hit Draco square in the throat. It made him choke, gasp and wish for death as it came spinning back. His body went cold, and he was sure he was going to be sick.

_"You think you've got problems?" Draco snarled, amber liquid sloshing over the rim of the mug, attempting to not allow any to drip onto the oak floor. "I think I may actually like a girl that I don't even know!"_

_"Fuck," Blaise said surprised, falling back against the sofa._

_Draco scratched his head. "The moment I see her I fuck up all my words and just end up acting like the biggest bloody prick the world has ever known. I even bloody think of her when I have no reason to, and then there's the fact that she unquestionably, most positively, fucking hates—no—despises my guts—correction—shadow. She despises the very breath that I breathe."_

_"Aw, Malfoy, how could anyone hate you?" Blaise teased._

_Draco snorted, nearly sniffing up his alcohol. "Prick," Draco said, coughing. Blaise smirked as Draco ran a hand through his hair. "I used to have game. I had girls falling at my bloody feet, and now? I am being dressed down by a petite five-foot woman who destroys any confidence I have with one look—then she fucking speaks, and I don't even know what an ego is!"_

_Blaise frowned, trying to fight sleep. "You use big words when you're drunk."_

His head whirled with panic and confusion at how simply his admission had slipped out without much restraint. It was honest; more honest that Draco knew he could be. Admitting it, and remembering, didn't hurt him as much as he thought—so did that mean it was true? Did he like Greengrass, or was it merely whisky talking?

He could hear Blaise moving around downstairs, and Draco tried to steady his heart. His eyes drifted back to the oak tree outside, stared at the simple oak tree; he wondered what her legs felt like, what she was doing in the tree, whether she was thinking of him like he was thinking of her.

"You're awake then," Draco said, sighing when Blaise entered the bedroom and sat down beside him.

"Wanna tell me why I'm in the middle of nowhere?" Blaise asked, his brow furrowed. "This place, wherever it is, also being a fucking Muggle village where I may or may not have broken a few laws."

Turning to meet his friend's apologetic brown eyes, Draco couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief.

"I said a few."

"What the fuck, did you do, Blaise?" Draco hissed, his fingers massaging his scalp in the hope that it would ease a bit of the pressure building there.

Blaise laughed, patting Draco on his thigh. "I'm kidding," moving his hand off before punching Draco's arm playfully. Failing to brace for the impact it would have, it hurt more than it should have. "However, it wasn't very cool of you to not tell me, that you live here now. I could have gone out there with my wand, firing at will."

Draco raised an arched brow as he said, "Sounds like a typical Saturday night for you."

"Ha-ha, very funny," Blaise snarled, his eyes suddenly fixed on the view outside, an awkward silence between them. For a while they just watched the wind dance through the branches. Draco looked just for the chance that he might see her again. "Is that where she sits?" Blaise asked, nonchalantly.

"What?"

Blaise looked at him with a knowing smile, which only further confirmed he knew far more than he let on. "I called it years ago,  _mate_."

"What did you just say?!"

Sighing, Blaise said. "Come on, you and Lil' Greenie always  _sparred_."

"I sparred with everyone: Potter, a lot of the girls, even the  _bloody_  Professors," Draco replied, clearly on edge; feeling the obvious sweaty palms caused by her being mentioned.

Blaise chuckled. "That may be so, but none of them kept up with you, did they? I have to admit; I did wonder if you'd swing to Potter...you know, with the amount, you went on about him in your little rants."

Draco punched him in the thigh, enjoying the way Blaise hissed through his teeth. "Do not, for one moment, act like you knew this would happen," Draco snarled, ignoring his other comments. "I was  _fucking_  awful to Greengrass."

Blaise snorted. "Mate, you were  _awful_  to a lot of people. To be honest, I actually thought for a long time that being a dickhead was your language. Like,  _'fuck off'_  really meant,  _'I love you'_. You may have noticed her earlier if you weren't so  _busy_  planning take-overs, and pushing Professors from towers. She grew up, Malfoy. She also became someone very different than all of us, but she also has a fire in her belly and a righteousness that is only matched by you. I mean, for fuck sake, who do you think even warned her that you lived here?" Blaise said, raising his brows. "Me."

"Wait.  _What_?"

Blaise glared at him, narrowing his eyes. "I saw you in the pub when I had finished knocking this female's boots off," he said, a proud grin etching across his face as the memories came flooding back. "Oh, and socks, knickers, the lot. I'm surprised you didn't hear my name when she screamed, but then I had called myself Leonardo that night..."

His laughter began to swirl the room, the nauseous feeling Draco had experienced earlier coming back with a vengeance at the new information he was trying to absorb.

"Zabini!" Draco hissed through gritted teeth, silencing his thoughts and his friend's annoying laugh. "What do you mean you knew I lived here?"

Blaise chuckled. "We all do. You, my friend, are shit at keeping secrets and you can't tell a half decent lie either." Draco dipped his head, staring at the floor as he fought vomiting. "Do you really think we'd let you live somewhere and us not know where you are? You, Draco Malfoy, are family to us. So, don't be a dick."

* * *

oOo


	4. Athena

**Athena**

* * *

Draco Malfoy had never been scared of anything before the war. The darkness had never bothered him, the noises late at night never frightened him—but all of that changed when Voldemort moved into his house. He had never feared that name until he came face to face with the red eyes that wished him to fall to his knees, and the name didn't stop making him shiver until the third year after the war—the year Harry Potter told Draco he forgave him.

As far as Draco came at forgiving himself, the nightmares always reminded him of the things he had done—the things he would never be able to escape. He had tried clenching his eyes shut, hoping it would stop the memories he tried hard to repress. It never worked, and now he was a grown man, who was scared of the dark, and the bumps in the night.

Even when he knew deep down his house was safe—he was safe—he couldn't stop the cold that swept over him as the shadows around his room morphed into his worst nightmares. He hated the light outside his house, the one that flickered as though it was close to extinguishing, but it never did, it always shone, every night, not allowing him to forget for a second who he was.

Draco would be forced to watch as the harmless dressing gown twisted into masked men who wished to suffocate him; his eyes trained on the darkness behind the agape wardrobe door, telling himself nothing was inside. When he ducked under his sheets, blond hair poking out the top, Draco never remembered he was a wizard and could conjure light without much thought.

He forgot everything in the dark, not becoming himself until the sunlight came.

Sleep was a blessing he never received—sometimes finding a release when he napped before the sunset. Most of the time, however, he spent curled up over a book or untranslated texts, hoping to make sense of it until his eyes hurt from lack of rest. Draco would spend hours studying Muggle cooking books, hoping if he adapted his lifestyle, one day his mind would forgive him for what he had done as a teenager. It never worked. Or, better yet, it hadn't worked.

Draco wasn't without any benefits though; he had become a great cook, finding without magic, cooking was more therapeutic than it was with magic. He slowly forgot to use cleaning charms; instead, Draco found pleasure in dusting his house and washing the pots he had used. He was a far cry from the boy he once was, and yet, no one but him seemed to notice.

"I just  _need_  —"

"Mr Malfoy," Healer Jones interrupted, his tone full of impatience.

Draco spread out his hands over his trousers, feeling each crease spread out as he did, focusing on that rather than the walls which felt like they were closing in. Every visit to the hospital got worse; Draco never felt like he was getting better—even if they promised him he would. The nightmares never seized; the anguish he felt when something went against the status quo.

His healer had been impatient with him from their first meeting. Healer Jones would remove his spectacles in a patronising way, staring down his nose at Draco as though he was dirt on the immaculate office floor. He didn't like Draco—and Draco suspected he never would either—not that he really blamed Healer Jones—he didn't really like himself much either.

"I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, I simply cannot supply you with any more Dreamless Sleep Potion. If you continue taking it at this rate, you will  _kill_  yourself."

Draco let out a sigh, his shoulders sinking as he felt himself bubble with sadness. He wouldn't cry, not here, not in front of Healer Jones and his impatience. He would wait, go home and open a bottle of whisky, and cry into his bedsheets like he did when the world became too much.

" _Right_ ," Draco said, standing up, not wanting to be in this room any longer, with this man, in this place. His fingers grabbed the ends of his robes, tugging them down as he masked his emotions—remembering who he was, who he was raised to be. "I assume there is nothing you can do to help me. Even if I can't fuc—freaking sleep. Even though I cannot think clearly, rationally." His teeth gritted as he stared down at his healer. "Even if you are supposed to be healing me, making me better."

Healer Jones removed his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose before placing them back, and Draco hated him more for that. For that stupid, ridiculous move that cost him more time. "Regarding potions,  _no_. I have nothing more for you, Mr Malfoy. There are no quick fixes, have you considered therapy, it could be quite  _beneficial—_ "

"It will get me killed," Draco said sternly. He struggled to swallow, the ceiling dipping down, and Draco clutched his chest, fighting to breathe. "The thoughts—my memories, will shatter what you've managed to fix. But, as always, Healer Jones, it has been a pleasure."

Draco wasted no time in leaving the office, needing air that wasn't shared with Healer Jones. He closed the door behind him with finality, considering never going back—never seeing the glasses and the pale face anymore. His chest was still tight, still causing him to struggle to breathe, and so he stepped to the side, leaning his back against the wall, attempting to breathe deeply.

The one positive about this corridor was its quietness—it was peaceful, always. It wasn't visitable without an appointment, and no one was allowed to wait or linger for their appointment. People had to be prompt or risk losing what they had waited for. It was much quieter today, and Draco was sure he would have heard a pin drop. The lack of sound, the cold air relaxed him, and he half-wished he could go home instead of being forced into work.

Opening his eyes, unsure when he had closed them, Draco blinked as the light of the hospital blinded him. He waited, watching his eyes focus on his surroundings as he straightened himself, moving from the wall. It was only by chance that he saw her—the woman he had hoped was a figment of his imagination. She wasn't.

Astoria had never looked quite so pleased with herself as she had done at that moment—her heels clicking towards him, her dark red lips spreading up her face. Draco didn't stop his own feet from walking towards her, rather hoping to get the painful conversation over with as soon as possible. "Well, hello there, Malfoy. Funny to find you  _here_  of all places."

Draco came to a stop before her, narrowing his eyes and moving his lips into his trademark smirk. "Little Greengrass, if I didn't know better I'd say you were stalking me."

Her brow cocked up, her lips pressing into a smirk. "You see, that is rather funny, I was about to say the same thing to you, Malfoy."

He could see the curiosity burning in her brown eyes; half of him wanting her to ask, to make her feel small when he was honest about his visit. Draco didn't need to wait long. "So, why are you here? Have you come for your  _weekly_  dose of bravery?"

"And are you here to receive some  _human emotions_  or finally have the test to prove you aren't  _dead_  inside."

Her lips parted, all set to speak when another voice—one he didn't recognise—spoke up, cutting in the middle of their exchange.

"Miss... _Greengrass_?"

He wanted to sigh in relief, not having anything else up his sleeve. Astoria, however, had paled beyond belief. If he had more time, he would have assured her that whatever she was here for, would remain their secret—he wasn't the devil incarnate after all. It didn't matter, shame had already begun to settle over her face, and she turned on her heel, striding towards the healer who had called for her, ignoring Draco completely.

If he wasn't suffering from sleep deprivation, his brain might have whirled and created words, but as quickly as he saw her, was as quickly as Draco's mind forced him to forget her. There was little space to be thinking about brunette's today; he had work to get through first.

* * *

"Heard you were at the hospital?"

Draco watched intently as Pansy moved closer to her whistling kettle—the witch never quite having grasped the summoning charm. Her hair was lacking the shininess it usually had, and he surprisingly couldn't remember the last time she looked this dishevelled. Pansy had always been the epitome of what a Pureblood witch should look like—and when she wasn't in public, what they should be acting like too.

She may have always been smirking and strutting around Hogwarts, but deep down, Pansy thought about everything—what she looked like to others, how she was perceived. Pansy may have been a hard woman to befriend—and a lot of people struggled to understand her logic on things—but not once did she care.

Draco had always known how compassionate she was, and never failed to understand her at all. When her peers turned on her in the Great Hall, not understanding the weight on her shoulders—Draco spoke for her, telling those who would listen how hard things were for her. Pansy never wanted to seem weak, and her appearance never showed if she was ill or tired; frail or miserable. It was why Draco had begun to worry as he sat in her kitchen, watching at a bare-faced witch with unbrushed hair.

"Word seems to  _travel_  fast," he said, irritably. "I can't sleep, that's all."

Pansy snorted. "I'm not  _all that_ surprised."

Wanting to distract himself—needing to feel something in his fingers—Draco turned and used his wand to conjure two teacups from the cupboard, much to Pansy's annoyance. He levitated the kettle from her hands, proceeding to pour the liquid out into the cups, her eyes furrowed in disappointment.

He didn't wish to let her wallow. Instead, Draco banged the kettle on the table—even if he had perfect control over his magic. Her eyes shot up as he smirked. "And, what do you mean by that, Parkinson?"

Pansy shrugged, her pale lips pressing against the rim of her cup. "Well, even I can see the darkness surrounding you. Your brain is probably dying from fucking misery in there. You need some joy in your life, Draco, a hobby or something. I mean, you used to pound out those feelings with, well, fucking."

"Well, the company I've kept hasn't been all that thrilling lately, so that's probably why."

She feigned being upset. "That's rather harsh, Malfoy, and that is coming from me."

Draco shook his head, trying not to prickle under her teasing. "You know that I do not mean you," he said, rising as she followed suit, the two walking to her living room. "Although your tea is fucking disgusting. But, come on, if we are utterly truthful, it's not as though  _women_  are falling at my feet."

She shrugged her shoulders, sinking down into her sofa. "Maybe that's because you're limiting yourself to the tarts that throw themselves at you as you enter the bar. There are nice women out there—if you ever bothered to look."

"Like  _you_?"

Pansy laughed, raucously and laced in mockery—a usual thing her joy was laced in. "Oh, Merlin, no," she puffed. "I am pure evil to the core. I'm certain that my whole body is filled with ice. Pansy Parkinson, the  _self-proclaimed_  Ice Queen."

Draco smiled to himself, moving his hand across to take hers as he gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go. "Why do you always invite me here?"

"Because your house always looks so..." she trailed off, frowning as she tried to find words.

"Stylish?" Draco suggested, sipping on his poorly made tea.

"I was going to say clinical; depressing even," Pansy said, surveying her own walls. "It needs some colours, some photos to bring it to life. Like me."

Draco rolled his eyes, placing his cup down on the arm. "If you keep giving me advice, I'll stop visiting you. You are giving me a headache."

"And there was me thinking I gave you a headache  _all the time_."

He scoffed, biting back a laugh. "You are quite full of yourself today, aren't you? You seem happy; I'm not sure I like it."

Pansy shrugged, fighting the blush passing over her cheeks—but failing. "I'm just content to enjoy the luxury of new springs in my bed, and clean, silky sheets," she said, grinning mischievously.

His attention was drawn to the window as a shadow cast over the glass—a dark brown owl landing gently on the windowsill before perpetually tapping against the glass. Draco handed her his cup as Pansy remained silent as he rose; he could feel her watching him open the window, using his fingers to retrieve her post from the bird. The owl didn't wait for a treat or a thanks, flying off in the opposite direction before Draco had a chance to do anything.

Closing the window, throwing the Daily Prophet and small envelope in her direction, something she took straight to the face and chest. Draco bit back a snigger, moving to rid her of his teacup.

"Now, where was I?" Draco asked, returning to his seat to find her looking fixated on the front page, her face suddenly pale.

Draco followed her gaze, his eyes watching the couple on the front page smile and wave—holding hands as a thousand bulbs flashes, highlighting the glistening ring on the woman's finger. He watched as Pansy's hand closed around the paper, the words 'Golden Couple Reunite', crumbling under her fist, and Weasley and Granger vanishing into the creases.

He cleared his throat, hoping to gain her attention. "Since when do you care about the news?" Draco asked. "Are you suddenly into public relations now?" When she didn't answer, he cast his cup to the coffee table, moving to tug at the paper in her hand, watching her eyes return to his sparkling with anger and pain. " _Pansy_?"

"What?" she said, abruptly.

"You—you're  _staring_ , at the front page."

Her cheeks turned red, and her neck following shortly after. "I—I have to go," Pansy said quickly, standing to her feet nearly knocking into the table when she stood up too quickly. " _I—thanks_  for the… I'll see you soon. Love you as al-always."

With a fumble, she was already in the fireplace, Draco having barely any time to ask her to stay or protest her leaving. Her hands were already full of powder, her mouth shouting words he couldn't understand, and with a rush of air, she was gone. Draco stared around, waiting several seconds before sighing.

"She isn't coming back," he voiced aloud. "Fuck sake."

* * *

Draco had left work late—much to his annoyance. The sun was setting over the village as he landed in a swirl of confusion and headache, and he was forced to press his hand against the side of the alleyway, near apparition point, to steady himself. He followed the advice of the healer, taking several deep breaths as he tried to calm his mind.

He hated what he had become—a mess of a person who relied too heavily on structure and being home before dark. Draco dusted down his robe-turned-suit, straightening himself out as he took one last deep breath. Draco tried to remain level-headed, walking out of the alleyway with his usual confidence and purpose. The lights on the street, flickering as they turned on, catching off guard and blinding him as they gathered their brightness.

With his day at work had left him drained and unfocused, he only nodded as he passed another villager, missing the man watching him suspiciously as Draco rubbed his forehead sever times. Never one to accept pity from others, Draco had remained at work passed his usual time to help out as another peer had gone home unwell.

"You're looking rather suspicious," a sweet voice said, Draco turning to meet the owner of the voice, and finding Astoria sitting on the wall outside the bakery. "Also, you're a little more  _unkempt_  than normal, have you taken someone up the  _alleyway_?"

Draco bit down on the inside of his cheek, rotating on his heels to face her. "Have you been sat there all this time, waiting to mutter a double-entendre my way? How pathetic of you, Greengrass."

"Yes, because I have nothing better to do than sit on walls and wait for old men to come home," she said, bitterly.

Her hand moved to hold her bag as she jumped down from the wall, the seams of it looking close to burst as she winced at the weight. Draco knew the gentlemanly thing to do would be to offer her help, but he didn't want to unburden her—somewhat enjoying seeing her struggle.

"You look like you need some—"

Astoria flicked her hair over her shoulder. "I do not need  _your_  help, but I, did run into you on purpose," she said, her lips curling up into a smile. He was set to make a sarcastic remark when her hand dove into her bag, pulling out a tiny intricate bottle. She allowed it to roll in her palm, both their eyes watching the liquid glisten inside before she handed it to him. "It should help with…well,  _your_  life."

Draco looked at the bottle in his fingers, noticing the grey immediately and sludge liquid was Dreamless Sleep. Her eyes were watching him, burning against his skin as realisation dawned on him.

"How did you know?"

Astoria sighed, adjusting her bag again. "You're quite easy to read you know?  _Almost_  like a book." Her tongue moving to lick her lips as she smirked. "You should really work on that if you ever intend to play poker.

Draco sighed. " _Thanks_?"

"You look awful, I mean more than normal," her lips curling into a smile. "You're not the only one with special skills, Malfoy."

Her smile was genuine, but he still watched it for several more seconds to be sure. It wasn't unheard of for her to be kind, but Draco had yet been shown her kindness—not since school anyways. While he had never given her any reason to be friendly towards him, Astoria had still always been nothing but pleasant. When he stormed off from Daphne and Pansy and their tea parties, Astoria had asked if he wished to play with her—which he always spitefully declined, for no reason at all.

"Why are you being kind to me? Don't we usually spar to the death?" Draco asked, not wanting to say what he really meant: why have you always been kind when I've been nothing but horrid.

For a moment Astoria looked like she wasn't going to answer, but she nodded her head at an oncoming car, and the two stepped further onto the pavement.

" _Truthfully_? You aren't much of a sparring partner when you're sleep deprived, your brain doesn't work as well as it should," Astoria replied, and whether she was being truthful or mocking him, he couldn't be sure.

Draco rolled the bottle in his hand once more before placing it in his pocket. "I am not one for gratitude."

"I never thought you were," she said, smiling softly as her hand moved under the bag to support it better. "I just fancied being a Knight in shining armour for a change."

Her body twirled on the spot, her skirt billowing out around her legs before she began to walk. For a second, he had been so blindsided by the smile on her lips, Draco had forgotten to start walking—until she coughed, signalling him to do so.

"Men are supposed to be knights, not women."

Astoria gasped, turning on her heels to face him as she walked backwards. "You Slytherin sexist,  _you_."

"Me?" His hand moving to clutch his chest.

"Yes,  _you_!" she exclaimed, half-laughing, turning back to face the right way.

Draco frowned mockingly, speeding up as she slowed down to walk beside him. "So, what does that make you then?"

"A  _pioneer_ ," she said, proudly. The slight breeze blew her perfume in his direction.

His snort made her brown eyes burn with contempt, but still, she walked beside him. "You think that's ridiculous?" she asked, her attitude changing instantly.

Draco shrugged. "Yeah,  _yeah_  I do."

Her eyes fixed ahead, not wishing to turn to meet his—especially when Draco was watching her, waiting for a flash of fire. "Well, since I'm the one choosing to live amongst people my family despised enough not to defend, or protect, I would call most definitely call myself a pioneer."

"And I call myself a blond," he snarled sarcastically.

Astoria halted in her steps. "No, you're just a  _narcissist_."

Draco caught sight of the freckles dotted over her nose in the street lamps lighting, the way her eyes twinkled with rage—but looked close to stars in the night sky. Her chin raised as she kept his eyesight, purposefully holding him in place.

"Pot, meet kettle, that's the phrase,  _right_?" Draco taunted.

Astoria's lips curled into a disgusted smirk. "If only you knew what I really thought of myself, you wouldn't dare mutter that word in my direction. "

The sound of a seam giving way caught their attention, her hand darting to adjust her bag, moving it into her arms, the weight clearly becoming problematic as her face tensed.

Draco couldn't hold it back, the words coming out before he could stop them. "Let me help you, Astoria."

"I don't need  _your_  help, Malfoy," she spat. "I just need to go home, so that I can rest."

He signalled up the hill. "Then  _fucking_  go. I'm not keeping you."

"Fine. I will."

He could only stare as the hostility grew between them once more—seeming a while since they had agreed. A flicker of gold passed in the brown of her eyes, and she huffed, turning on her heels.

"Goodbye," she shouted over her shoulder.

Draco snorted. "Enjoy the rest of your evening,  _Greengrass_."

"I hope yours is  _bloody_  horrible," Astoria spat, turning her attention to the street, stomping her heels into the pavement. His grey eyes followed her down the road, leaning against the lamppost. When she finally passed the pub, turning left down to her street, Draco let out a sigh and let the smile he had repressed pass over his lips.

Draco made his way home, sauntering with a small skip in his step as his hands clasped around the bottle in his pocket. Turning down the short path to his house, lightly kicking a stray stone, looking up as his home came into view, his eyes focused on the tall man who was pacing in his front garden. Dread began to fall like snow over his body, catching onto his skin and suit. He didn't have the patience; he didn't have the strength for whatever this was.

"Zabini?"

The dark-skinned male turned to face him, his hand running through his short hair. Draco wasn't sure what had sparked this impromptu visit, but he assumed from the bottle in Blaise's other hand that it wasn't going to be a joyous one.

"You brought liquor?" Draco groaned as he closed the garden gate behind him. "You do realise it's only  _late_  afternoon, right?"

Blaise moved closer, his expression blank as he pulled a folded piece of parchment out of his jacket pocket and pressed it into Draco's chest. "Welcome to my  _fucking_  nightmare, Malfoy. Please, come take a  _shit_  in it."

Draco, evidently unaware of what had transpired, clasped his hand around the note before it fell to the ground. "I will refrain from that, especially as this is my front garden." He opened the folded piece of paper and began to read as the hairs on the back of his neck stiffened.

_Please come and join us as we celebrate the future Mr and Mrs Winchester at Greengrass Manor. Saturday the 1st of July at midday—_

"Oh  _fuck_..." Draco whispered.

Blaise looked at him wide-eyed, full of rage. "Oh fuck, in- _fucking_ -deed. She said yes, Daphne said fucking yes. She's engaged." Blaise shoving his hands into the air. "I thought she was just winding me up or, you know, that she'd say fucking no. But, she said fucking yes, Malfoy," Blaise shouted, tears welling up in his anger filled eyes. "Wh—what do I  _fucking_  do?"

Draco tried to find the right words to say as Blaise moved closer, but knew none would be received well. It didn't stop him, knowing Blaise needed to hear the truth from him, rather than Daphne. "Have you ever thought,  _Zabini_ , that maybe sleeping with girls you like is not how you keep them? No offence, mate, but you fuck everything that walks," Draco said softly, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder.

Blaise looked down, talking under his breath so lightly, Draco had no chance of hearing what he was saying. " _What_? Zabini, you're mumbling."

His friend looked up, meeting his eyes that were flushed with shame. "I did not sleep with her," Blaise confessed, embarrassed. "I wanted her to feel  _special_."

Draco's whole body froze in shock as the announcement sunk in. "Holy  _mother_  of fuck."

"Exactly!" Blaise said, uncapping the bottle and taking a large swig of the alcohol. "I'm screwed."

Draco shook his head, before walking to his front door. Waving his hand over the doorknob before pressing his palm to it, hearing it unlock. "We should make a club," Draco laughed, opening the door, nodding his head to invite Blaise inside. "Firewhisky is in the cupboard,  _bottom shelf_."

* * *

oOo


	5. Nike

**Nike**

* * *

Draco never had the intention to go to the engagement party at all—and he most definitely didn't want Blaise to attend. Blaise had been living in Draco's spare room since he had arrived with liquor, and Blaise had shown no effort to sober up. It had been five days, and in the last three—when Draco had returned home from work—he found his house smelt similar to a brewery, then a cottage in the middle of a village.

As days passed, his weekly visit to Malfoy Manor ended with bitterness in Draco's tongue. His mother, like usual, had been the one to twist his hand, forcing him to remember their fall from society and how thin the ice currently was that they stood on. He begrudgingly accepted the invitation to Daphne Greengrass' engagement party, sending the owl straight from the Manor, under the watchful eye of Narcissa.

When Blaise had finally drunk Draco's home dry—not a small feat at all—he finally bid his farewell, and once more, the cottage in the village silenced, and darkness crept out from the walls. He had been sleeping much better since Blaise had been staying. His dreams weren't mingled with regret, and his stomach wasn't twisted when he woke up. Draco also found his skin had improved, almost returning to the moonlight glow those who knew him at school were used to—as Potter highlighted in the corridor. Draco most definitely didn't want to accept that Astoria's potion had anything to do with it—it was entirely Blaise, and that was the story he was accepting.

As soon as he apparated on to the Greengrass Manor grounds, he smirked at the lavish home before him. While thankful his friends had not been affected by the shift in the world, it was painful to see others doing much better than his own family—even if his family had made the worst decisions during the war. It didn't matter to him what money had been left in their vaults—they had always had far too much when it had been put into perspective; Draco would never forget the sounds of his parents' calling him, needing to find him as they ran through the crumbling castle to find him. They didn't have a lot, their house was falling apart, and his mother remained a prisoner to the ghosts of the Manor—but they were alive, and they loved him.

Greengrass Manor was one of the more lavish homes in the Pureblood circles that were left over. Today, being a special occasion, it was decorated far worse than Draco had ever seen it—everything to show off their wealth. The driveway was lit by enchanted candles, floating in the air—glowing as Draco passed them. He bit back a sniggered the moment he had entered the house to find a painting of Daphne and her wealthy,  _American_  fiancé; an American Pureblood who was several years older than her. His family were famous, and Draco wondered whether the marriage was one of love or business convenience—but knowing Purebloods, it was most positively the latter.

Daphne Greengrass had a beauty that preceded her, blonde and brown eyed, but she had a vicious tongue in her head that swayed the Sorting Hat to see past her mask. Her sharpness had been passed down to her younger sister, but the well-known blonde hair had not, but whispers amongst the older generations had always said she was different than any of the previous Greengrass'.

It had taken all of five minutes in the company of the older generations for Blaise to excuse himself and find a seat at the bar—the  _ridiculously_  bright orange bar, an apparent favourite colour of the future husband of Daphne Greengrass. Theo had begrudgingly followed to help make sure that Blaise didn't make a fool of himself, something Draco was very thankful for. In the absence of their company, Draco surveyed his surroundings as he sipped from his champagne flute. The guest's laughter and jokes swirling around him, making his jaw tense as awkwardness and social anxiousness grew. He had once felt apart of this crowd, but today, now, Draco had never felt more outside looking in, in the entirety of his life. Instead of making conversation, he further exiled himself, staring around at the disgusting pink and green banners—flecks of orange mingled in—hating every time the banners shouted  _'congratulations'_  when someone walked past them.

Draco didn't have to wait long before his mother arrived. She breezed into the room, old money and morals flowing off her. To anyone else, they would never know she was anything but happy, her congratulations being bestowed on Mr and Mrs Greengrass for their daughter's marriage—just as to be expected. Draco, however, knew behind the smile, was a layer of disgust; he had caught her eyes glancing over the obscene decorations, and the odd looks she got from other guests as she waltzed into the room.

He had greeted his mother at many occasions such as this one, and each time they did the same dance. She would approach, masked and ready, and he would take her hand—just as his father had taught him too—and he would press one kiss to her left cheek. They both knew people were watching; people were hoping they would embarrass themselves—as though falling from grace could cause them to forget their manners. They hadn't; they never would.

"Ignore them," Draco whispered as he pressed his lips to her cheek.

Narcissa Malfoy—a woman who had endured so much, and wore little of its toil on her frame. "I intend to, dear," she replied, smiling at him.

Thankfully, Draco had only needed to escort his mother around the room, standing back as she reacquainted herself. Her voice loudly, but respectfully, explaining her housebound nature was out of respect for her home-prisoned husband—but Draco knew no one believed her, but none of them knew how little they cared. He remained silent, even if it killed him, and at the fourth conversation about wishing he were married to a charming Pureblood woman, Draco chose to excuse himself from her company.

Allowing a massive sigh to fall from her shoulders as he stepped out on to the patio, resting the glass flute—he still found he was holding—on to the stone ledge. The weight didn't fall from his shoulders, the ones around his ears; he was stressed, uncomfortable, and he could think of a thousand other things he would rather be doing. Draco considered the place to be the reason for his mood; he wasn't riddled with joyous memories here—but then, that feeling extended to most of the Pureblood homes he had run around as a child. Everything was tainted with lies; everything was covered in darkness.

His eyes surveyed the area, remembering how he had walked along the garden path with Daphne, listening to her whine about how annoying her sister could be—and how immature and selfish he was with his responses. Draco became disgusted with himself, undoing his robes as he grew hot; hating how proud he had once been at his horrid nature. He may have apologised to many—including Granger, Potter, and Longbottom—but he never once thought of apologising to those of his own circle; those who had put up with him for longer than those in other houses.

"Oi."

Draco looked over his shoulder, finding the perfectly made-up Pansy with a devilish smirk on her lips. She looked a far cry from the woman who had burst into the fireplace at her house—the one who had abandoned him.

"Lurking on patios, how very surly Draco of '94," Pansy taunted, bringing the glass to her lips as she swallowed some champagne.

He bit back his smirk, appearing placid. "Arriving late, being unsociable, and finding any excuse to not be in a room with the colour pink—how very Parkinson, circa...always."

Shrugging her shoulders, she turned and leant against the stone fence that guarded the patio. Her back to the garden, her eyes fixed on the party inside the open doors. Draco, enjoying the game of 'witch-watching' with Parkinson, followed suit and put his back to the greenery. As soon as he did, Draco found Astoria's eyes—bored, sullen eyes that clung to him as soon as they grasped him, sparkling with mischief at the sight of him. He tried to appear unfazed, but as the smirk grew behind the mask he had put up, he knew it was no good

Today, she sported a look he would never have expected her to wear. Dressed like any Pureblood woman would—fancy dress robes, hair pinned up with charms and spells, her face highlighted with more appeal, ridding her of her tired and ill-look she usually bore. Astoria paid no attention to her mother, even as Mrs Greengrass continued to chew her younger daughters ear off. The light purple dress-robes Astoria was wearing clung to her waist—sparkling with magic.

"Zabini is t-totalled, you know this?" Pansy said, cutting into his thoughts.

Draco softened his smirk, composing his expression. "Nott is supposed to be watching him."

She snorted. "Theo is too busy admiring the waiter's arse to be watching Zabini's consumption."

Astoria smirked at him before turning her head as though ignoring him, her eyes unable to break from him. Draco wasn't sure how he had brought this upon himself—to want the only female in the world who would rather berate him than date him, but here he was. He had considered if he was a masochist—the very thing Pansy had called him over lunch—but he suspected it was the chase, the battle.

"It's not good either way," Pansy said, ignoring his drifting eyes. "If he makes a fool out of himself, I'll have to turn him inside out. Girl code, you know?

"Figures," Draco responded, dryly. "Although, you only apply that girl code when it gives you the chance to stretch yourself."

He didn't need to see her to know she was smirking, Pansy always was. "You want what you can't have, Malfoy," Pansy stated, Draco took his attention from Astoria, meeting the wicked smile. "You're a masochist, and not even in the rather cool sexual way. You know, because you're now sex shy. Which is ridiculous, especially when you can actually use it."

Draco puffed. "Um, thanks?"

"You're welcome," Pansy stated, ignoring his sarcasm.

Having heard enough to warrant another drink, he slid his hand into the holster in his robes, summoning a flute as Pansy glared as it levitated into his hand. He sipped on it victoriously, not breaking her stare as he finished the entire glass.

"You could just use a refilling charm," Pansy snarled.

Draco licked his lips. "Would be unfilling, especially when I wish to gloat about my talent."

Her mouth opened, and from the look in her eyes, it was going to be laced with poison. Much to Draco's delight, Blaise stumbled out onto the patio, his eyes glazed over, his robes having fallen from one shoulder.

"There you are," Blaise hiccuped, trying to hand Pansy his flute as it fell between his fingers, halted by Draco's wand as Pansy grabbed it.

If Draco felt out of place, Blaise looked and felt even more out of place—the evidence written over his face. He had always been the master of fitting in, never without confidence or wit, but today, he seemed sucked of everything that made Blaise, Blaise. Draco could understand why—he wasn't too sure he'd be feeling much better if he was in Blaise's shoes.

"Nott, Warrington and a few others fancy a game of Quidditch. You up for it?" Blaise asked, his tone full of hope and need.

Draco looked at his friend, his brows raised in surprise. Occasions such as these were never to turn into sporting matches—too much testosterone, and not enough brain, that is what their mothers would say.

"I cleared it with Mr Greengrass. He even suggested that we ' _rope in Wankchester'_ ," Blaise added, bitterly. "I'd much rather do something else to  _Wankchester—with_  a fucking rope—but I guess, knocking him off his broom with a Bludger will have to do for now, at least."

Draco chose not to argue, nodding and slapping Blaise on the back as Theo came out to meet them, looking too pleased with himself. Pansy cast one look at him, smirking as she met Draco's eyes—a code for 'I told you so'—before she looped her arm through Blaise's, taking control of him.

"He's a mess," Theo whispered, as Draco hung back to walk with him. "A bloody, fucking, twatting mess."

Draco cocked his brow up. "You fucking think? He tried to climb into my bed the other week. Apparently, vodka mixed with loneliness makes Zabini a big teddy bear who loves cuddles. Do I look like I want fucking cuddles?"

Theo smirked, skipping down the steps to the broom cupboard as Pansy threw him a broom—which Theo handed straight to Draco, firmly, eyes fixed on him. "You look like you need more than a few cuddles, mate."

"Hold onto your boxers there, Nott. I'm not swinging to your side of the field just yet," Draco said quickly—dismissing the flirtation before it became worse.

Shrugging, Theo tutted. "That's a shame. I know of a few guys who'd like a go with you." He winked mischievously.

Draco tensed as a shiver ran down his spine. As okay as he was with Theo and his choice in partners, Draco didn't enjoy the jesting—and he didn't like being the butt of the joke. "Fuck,  _right_ , off," he snarled.

Theo closed the door to the broom cupboard with a wink before the two moved to join the others—finding the other two had left them behind. Draco didn't want to taint anymore of the day with icy, jealous words, instead choosing to bury them deep down and remembering it for the next time they complained he didn't come out for drinks.

While the Greengrass Estate was vast, the Quidditch pitch was not far from the house. Daphne having explained years ago about her father's drinking and need for riding; her mother had allowed him to move the pitch closer, in case he had an accident. Reaching the entrance of the pitch, it quickly became clear that not all the men who had agreed to play had been able to get away from their mothers—or their significant others. It meant that they had two very poor teams of three, and while Draco wasn't all that fussed about playing, he had noticed that Blaise was making a fool of himself already

"We don't have enough players," Theo stated before Draco had a chance.

Blaise immediately met his eyes, begging and pleading for support as Winchester flew in from somewhere unknown. Draco tried not to snarl as she watched the American step to the dust, not a mere piece of grass seemingly undisturbed by his feet.

"Why don't we invite some of the girls to play?" Blaise suggested.

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm not sure if the alcohol has muddled with your brain, Zabini, but girls  _cannot_  play Quidditch."

"Excuse  _me_?"

A sweet voice said silencing Blaise before he could reply. Draco looked around to see Astoria stood with her arms crossed, her eyes piercingly brown as they stared into Draco—who adjusted his grip on his broomstick. Her hair had come undone, soft curls falling around her shoulders.

Draco stood taller, not willing or wanting to back down. "What? It is the truth,  _is it_ not?"

"Oh,  _really_? So, how come there is an all-female team, Malfoy? And—in case it slipped your mind—that team also has a brilliantly skilled chaser that we all happened to go to school with?" Astoria returned, her disgust at his comment present in her voice.

A silence fell over the group, and even though they were outside, Draco could feel the air thickening. Her eyes stared at him, filling with anger. It was like no one else was there, just them, circling one another like animals ready to attack.

"Just because the team you  _happened_  to support or the house team you played on didn't have a girl playing, does not mean that girls can't play."

Draco snorted. "If you're talking about Girl- _Weasley_ , she got there because of Potter and—"

Astoria stepped closer, his height dominated her, but her confidence made them parallel. She wasn't backing down, and his chest swelled with excitement for a spar. "So, are you saying that a woman  _needs_  a man to help them get anywhere? Or is this another chance for you to harp on about Potter again—because if I didn't know any better, I'd say you have a little  _crush_  on him."

Draco didn't miss the sniggers coming from his friends beside him, and while he would usually berate them for ridiculing him—he had no time for them, needing only to destroy Astoria.

He licked his lips slowly, needing his voice to be calm. "I do not have a crush on Potter. I am stating that you are wrong—"

"No, I respectfully decline. I think that I am calling you out on your sexist, bigoted opinions—which you probably got from some book that's older than your house," she snarled. Her words sliced through the air, the crowd watching the two of them as their argument unfolded. "I assume—because you are a narrow-minded fuck—that your opinion will only change with visual proof, so, I bet you, that I can catch the Snitch before you—which might be an issue for you to accept, with that  _oversized_  ego of yours."

Draco sighed. "I love how you  _think_  you know me so well, Greengrass."

He didn't act as she crossed him, her shoulder nudging his as she walked over to Blaise. Astoria didn't ask but instead took the broom from Blaise's hands, turning back to face Draco with a smile. He wouldn't deny it if asked, he was intrigued. However, he didn't actually wish for the witch to be embarrassed when he left her for dust in front of all of their friends. Draco was better than her; he had been on the Slytherin team—he had been on a broom all of his life. He may not have been scouted to play in the Quidditch League—which he presumed was due to his reputation—but he still knew he was good; better than her at least. She shouldn't even know how to fly—no Pureblood female should.

He wasn't worried, not at all; Daphne had always said that Astoria had spent far too much time either up a tree or in her room, nose forever stuck in a book.

Draco watched as she brought her wand from between her breasts—an unusual place for her wand, but for now, he wouldn't comment. With a quick mutter from her lips, he watched as her robes moved, billowing out before twisting in and around her legs—becoming something more comfortable to ride in. Astoria had stunned him, and she had done it purposefully, kicking off from the ground and leaving him in a pile of leaves which blow in the faces of those standing there, observing her.

If it was at all possible, Draco was sure he had just fallen in love with her. A smile so beautiful suddenly became etched over her face; she flew with a freeness he was sure he had never seen before on anyone—never mind a woman. Her shoulders were relaxed, and as Draco kicked off behind her, zooming into the sky, he was sure he heard her giggle as she was hovering alongside him. She was goading him playfully, and he had never felt more alive at the sight of her doing so. She looked completely different up here, without the restraints and weights of her name and her gender.

"Have you changed your mind, Malfoy?" she asked. Her brown eyes sparkling wickedly as she smiled at him. "Are you too  _scared_  to play with a girl?"

Before she had given him a chance to reply, Astoria zoomed away from him, her hair coming undone—curls falling out into the speed at which she flew at. His pursuit of her made her laugh, Astoria zooming far ahead out of his grasp. Draco felt entirely lost in the moment, for once not being at each other's throats and seeing a side of her that he had known was there, but one she had never shown until now. When she slowed to a stop, her eyes lit up with happiness, her chest falling and rising with adrenaline.

"You ready,  _Greengrass_?"

Her brow raised mockingly. "To destroy  _you_ , Malfoy?  _Always_."

They watched eagle-eyed as the gold flutter of wings rose from the ground, the people beneath them—watching them—looked like ants. Neither cared, both too busy concentrating ss they soared through the air. With each second, his initial thoughts of her not being able to fly were quickly corrected, suddenly feeling impressed by her sharp moves and skill. There was a light in her that he could sense had been wishing to burst out of her for some time and now it had, Draco never wanted it to be bottled again. She illuminated the entire garden—even the clouds seemed to disperse at her happy mood.

Her lips curled up into a grin as she turned to face him. "You ready Malfo—"

" _ASTORIA GREENGRASS_!" A shrill voice shouted. The two freezing against the wood, both pulling the brooms to a stop in the air, looking down to meet the crazed eyes of her Mrs Greengrass. " _ARE YOU DETERMINED TO EMBARRASS YOUR SISTER TODAY_? Get your feet back on this ground or so help me,  _Salazar_ , I'll hex you down."

Draco looked at Astoria who was staring at her mother; her eyes had darkened, thunder crackling behind. The light dimmed from her skin, and Draco realised the cork that caged her was stood far below. Astoria turned to meet him, her lips quivering slightly as her cheeks filled with redness—which he assumed was anger.

"Another time,  _Malfoy_ ," she seethed, although he knew her tone wasn't aimed at him.

As she descended to the ground, Draco couldn't help but feel anger pulsate through the air. Everything around them, shaking underneath the rage that was trapped inside of Astoria Greengrass. He waited, allowing her a head start before he too descended to the ground. Draco kept his eyes on her, noticing Mrs Greengrass gripping her youngest daughters' arm so fast, he was surprised she hadn't fallen over as she met the grass. The broomstick clattered to the ground, falling from her grasp.

He felt helpless as Astoria was dragged up the path back to the house, watching as her shoulders sunk and her hair began to coil back into the style she had worn earlier. Draco didn't notice his hands balled into fists, or his jaw was tensing to the breaking point until he felt a nudge beside him—suddenly seeing Theo.

"You alright there, mate?"

Draco turned to meet Theo's concerned gaze. "Yeah," Draco said.

"Good," Theo replied, smirking. "Because we still need to knock ol'  _Wankchester_  off his broomstick for Zabini."

"Even if we manage it, it won't bring Daphne back to him," Draco said under his breath, just so the others—specifically Blaise. His grey eyes were glancing at the door Astoria had been shoved through, wishing to go after her, even if he knew it wasn't plausible.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Theo nodded. "Well, we've got to do something. Alcohol isn't making this easy for him to forget her, is it?"

* * *

oOo


	6. Hephaistos

**Hephaistos**

* * *

"So, did you  _enjoy_  the engagement party? I noticed you came alone."

Draco watched as her finger slid down her knife, her eyes glittering with annoyance at his questions. Pansy had spent most of the meal avoiding anything he asked, instead, changing the subject to his wandering eye when it came to Astoria—something he, himself, was not ready to talk about. He tried not to get just as irritated with her as she was with him, seeing little point in both of them being at each other's throats when they were all the other had.

"Pansy?" He asked, pushing his peas around his plate.

She looked up, meeting him dead in the eye with a stern expression falling over her face. "I can hear you," she snarled. "I am just choosing to think about my answer."

He knew something was wrong—he just didn't know what. His suspicion started when Pansy suggested a Muggle restaurant, not that he had an issue—he much preferred those establishments, Muggle's didn't how much of a fuck up he was. Draco's suspicion was fuelled further when she didn't take enjoyment in stressing the waiter or correcting his mispronunciation of the wine. It took him awhile— _too long if he was honest_ —to notice the simmering sadness behind her eyes, the lack of enjoyment in her voice when she shared gossip.

Draco knew better than to come out with it; Pansy was not a woman who appreciated being pushed. She liked to come to you herself, sharing herself when she felt safe and comfortable.

He waved his fork around, becoming bored with his food. "And?"

Pansy dropped her cutlery to her plate, mirroring his distaste. Draco swallowed, knowing precisely what was to come if she had been put off her food. The woman was an animal; she never left food—something surprising for how tiny her waist was.

"Who was I supposed to bring, Malfoy? Do you see a ring on my finger? Do you know something I do not?" she spat coldly.

Draco picked up his napkin, dabbing at the corners of his mouth before dropping it on to his plate, signalling that he was done with his meal—the evening in fact.

"Pansy, what the  _fuck_  is wrong with you?" His tone low, attempting to save embarrassment.

She averted his gaze, looking at the tablecloth before chewing on her lip nervously. Confirmation that something was gravely wrong landed on the table, practically pointing it out with flashing lights and a huge fuck you sign that screamed 'Draco, you massive bonehead'.

He placed his hand over hers, taking her fingers in his. "Pansy, who has upset you, and how do I kill them?"

She let the wall down, the mask falling to her lap as Draco stared at the vulnerable and broken Pansy Parkinson. It was a rare sight and a horrid one. The need to know who had done this rose with the passing milliseconds, the desire to hurt them and take care of her, swirled inside of him. Draco wanted to get her out of the restaurant, but he knew that the moment he did, he would have little time to get her to open up—she always ran, always hid, not allowing anyone to see her so vulnerable.

"I was sleeping with someone, someone who I quite enjoyed spending time with. But, like so many men do, they ended things and said they loved someone else," Pansy's voice cracking, pain still evident. "I...was fine at first; then I got angry at who he had chosen to go back to. Then I got bitter, and I slept with his friend—who seemed as equally sad as I. We kept it simple, sex and only sex—but I liked him, I began to like him."

Draco swept his thumb over her hand, seeing her eyes beginning to fill with tears—her eyes busy staring off into the distance as she shared her soul.

"I was honest, right from the start, something I never fucking do, Draco, never." Her hand quickly darting to wipe a tear that met her cheek instantly, her eyes hardening a little as she lost composure. "He said he would protect me; he would make sure it didn't hurt anymore...and then he kept something from me." Draco watched her face harden, matching her eyes. "And I got angry, and I said things I couldn't take back. We fought, worse than people do when they're in love—because we don't love each other, and  _we never fucking could_."

The waiter began to head their way, but Draco sent such a stare the man retreated, and he couldn't help but smile to himself at the sight. At least here he still could spark fear in others, not that it mattered, not that he even wanted to spark that in people anymore.

Pansy shrugged, tugging her hand from his as she straightened her back. "I wanted to feel special, and—"

"You  _are_  special," Draco said reassuringly, interrupting her as she scoffed. "You are, and this fool, he'll come around."

She shook her head, already having anticipated him saying as such. "He won't because I made sure he wouldn't," Draco frowned, and she rolled her eyes. "I was sad, that is what you need to remember, okay? I was  _sad_ , desperately sad."

Draco did not have a good feeling about this. It sat in his chest, throbbing against his throat as he stared at her—pleading internally that she hadn't murdered someone for pleasure or slept with Blaise.

"I  _fucked_  Blaise," Pansy said with disgust, her lip curling as she grabbed her wine glass. "It wasn't half bad—"

"You fucked Blaise? As in  _Blaise Zabini_ , walking  _STI_?"

Nodding her head, sipping all the wine in her glass in one swallow. When Pansy placed her glass back down, her eyes were open, full of vulnerability once more, utterly fearful.

"I am broken, Draco. I am so, so broken," she took a deep sigh, dipping her head as her hair fell around her cheeks. "I feel like I'm crumbling, and I can't, I don't..." Her hands lifting out to the sides, attempting to muster words. "Fix me, I don't even know how you could, but please, just...I can't keep being this person, this version of myself, Draco, it's—"

He didn't care what the guests thought; he didn't care what the waiter would mutter to the other staff. Draco stood from his chair, sliding onto his knees beside her as Pansy folded into him; she broke in two, four even, her sobs not able to be contained by her many walls and masks.

Draco wasn't equipped for this kind of situation at all. Pansy had always been the one to have solutions to problems others couldn't handle. She was a woman who didn't fear slapping him across the face and telling him to grow a pair; she was the same woman who would punch a man, twice her size, just for disrespecting her. Pansy was the glue for others, and for herself—never usually allowing anyone to do anything for her.

"I fell in love," she whispered softly, her hair brushing against his neck. Pansy said it so quietly, as though saying it too loud would make it true. "And I  _fucked_  it up, and then, to make it worse...I slept with _Zabini_ ," her tears building as she spat out their friends name, "I need you to save me. Save me, before I fall apart."

Draco's jaw clenched, his hand rubbing her back as he felt the eyes of the establishment fall on him. Not that he cared—they could stare all they wished at him, but he wouldn't allow one of them to penetrate Pansy, not one.

Pansy turned her head on his shoulder, her face a mess of tears and anguish. "I see it when you stare at her, Draco. If you truly do feel something, you need to act on it. We can't be silent  _anymore_ , we can't expect others to understand us—our thick, cold layers don't allow anyone to read us," she said as she met his gaze, the sadness in her eyes making his blood freeze in his veins.

* * *

Draco was somewhat embarrassed about the length of time it took for him to gain his courage. It took him several paces, a whole evening of deliberation, and an afternoon of talking to himself in the mirror.

Each step up the village street to the pub was one that felt harder and harder to take. He didn't show it, not to one passerby. Draco said hello to people he would never usually speak to; he nodded at men he had never seen before—and to anyone watching him, they would think he was the happiest man in the town. Draco wasn't, not even close; he was a barrel of nerves and fear—constantly telling himself he was going to be rejected.

When the pub door met his back, it dawned on him what he was about to do. He couldn't stop himself from turning and glaring at the wood, hating it for being so final and so heavy. Thankfully, the place was rather empty, leaving only a few regulars he usually observed and the person in question he wished to see. His corner—usually dark and dim—was now illuminated by a new light, something that made him slightly nervous. Tonight, however, was not a night where he'd deliberate sitting there or not—it wasn't the task he had come in here for, and if he waited any longer to do it, he was sure he would convince himself not to. The barman, Donald, was cleaning the counter in front of him, barely looking up to greet him, something Draco was grateful for.

His pulse was racing, his hands trembling as Draco took off in a stride towards the woman at the end of the bar—her face, as usual, stuck in a book. In the seconds it took him to reach her, a thousand thoughts passed through his mind. They ranged from her throwing a drink at him, to whether other men—men who hadn't been chased after in school—felt like this when they asked a girl out, to finally settling on her saying yes, thankful to end his worries on a positive note.

Draco grimaced at the fact he'd been deliberating so much over the what-if's, he hadn't thought of what to say, and now he was stood in front of her. He wasn't sure of the phrase, he would need to clarify it with Granger, but Draco was sure he looked close to a beer in the headlights—or something to that agenda, not that he understood it at all.

As he stood before her, Draco cleared his throat, causing her to tear her eyes from the page and move to focus on him. In those milliseconds, time seemed to slow to minutes, and he was able to recall her smile, her wit, the laugh as they raced off into the clouds, and all the fear in his bones fading into nothing.

"Hi," Draco said before taking a deep breath, allowing a more natural smile fall on his lips. "I'm Draco Malfoy— _a former arse_  who would quite like to buy you a drink and apologise for insulting you on many occasions."

Astoria frowned, her mouth opening slightly as her tongue poked out of the corner; Draco cleared his drying throat, before continuing.

"I admit, at the time I thought it was— _well,_  it doesn't matter what I had thought then, I was wrong, and it was wrong, and I'm sorry."

Astoria hand brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her eyes darted to the chair beside her—the one her bag was currently on—and cleared it for him to sit on. As he did, she raised her hand, and Draco found his naturally met hers, shaking it—noticing the electricity that flickered through them as they touched.

"Hi,  _Draco_  Malfoy, I am Astoria Greengrass."

He nodded. "The  _three-course_ meal?"

Astoria smirked. "Not the snack." Her hand closed her book before placing it on the bar. "I like that you remembered."

He crossed his fingers, looping his hands together before placing them on the bar. Draco didn't want to stare at her too much, finding his eyes typically gravitated towards her—not able to tear himself away if he was allowed to linger.

Draco placed his tongue on the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say. He thought of Pansy, how she had been so upset over being honest—but he still decided to follow her lead. "I think you are the  _first_  girl who hasn't fallen at my feet, you know."

He glanced to the side, seeing Astoria grinning as she took a purposefully victorious sip from her straw, before placing it back down. "How did it feel?" she asked, watching him.

"Bloody horrid, especially when I realised how much I wanted you too—and then it got even more horrid," Draco laughed.

Astoria moved her chair closer, a soft smile on her lips—a pink blush to her cheeks making her eyes stand out. "I'm  _awfully_  sorry about your experience."

"Don't be," he replied with a smile. "I liked it the wait. Well, I still quite like it."

"Of course you did," she teased. "All  _men_  like a small amount of chase."

Draco chuckled, knowing he wasn't able to deny it. "We still need to have a game of Quidditch," he said, gazing at her. "I don't forget these things."

"Greengrass' never forget either, don't you worry, I will serve you your dignity on a platter. But that isn't why you are here, is it?"

He rolled his lips, finding something in his chest fluttering as nerves began to swell up inside of him. "No.  _No_ , it isn't."

Astoria leant back into her chair, her hands meeting her knees. "So, Draco Malfoy, the  _arse_ , why are you here?"

Her sweet voice danced over him; littering him with lightness and flirtations he didn't know if he deserved—but for once, Draco wouldn't allow himself to question.

" _Former_  arse," Draco argued, earning him a laugh.

Astoria's eyes sparkled. "Forgive me," she said, still laughing, "Draco, the  _former_  arse."

Nodding in appreciation, sporting a playful smirk. " _Much_  better," he replied, "but what I came here to ask you, Miss Greengrass." He turned on his chair, making his whole body face her as she studied him. "Would you like to go on a date with me?"

He waited with fought breath—the various answers hammering against his brain, each worse than the last. Draco had made her laugh, which he counted as a positive, and if her answer was no, he would always have that—and even possibly a friendship. Not that he ever wished for that, Draco Malfoy did not settle for friendships.

"Yes," Astoria replied warmly, a smile accompanying the answer Draco sighing in relief, unsure why he had worried. "I think I would quite like to go on a date with the  _former arse_ , Draco Malfoy."

* * *

He was late. Why he always late he wasn't sure.

Draco felt like he was playing a game of Quidditch as he swerved out of the way of old women and young children. He didn't want to get his clothes dirty as he made his way down the busy streets of London, trying to avoid every single item in his path. Draco had begun to consider that London was out to get him, erecting new rubbish bins and other Muggle items he didn't see the need for. Didn't the city know he had an image to uphold; especially after he had already been called out for a mud stain on his shirt last week—something he tried to explain wasn't his fault.

He had promised himself from that day onwards—the embarrassment too much to bear—if he was going to be late, he could at least turn up appropriately dressed. Draco hoped he'd be able to keep that promise as he eventually skidded to a halt outside the row of outside toilets.

As Draco swirled through the system, preparing himself to land in the Ministry, only one thought ran through his mind: She was going to kill him.

It wasn't long before his shoes were hammering against the black and green tiles of the Ministry floor. His body crammed into the lift that tugged him in all angles, relieved to find himself on his level as he painted a determined expression on his face. Draco averted his gaze from anyone that would stop him from getting to his office—thankful the corridor seemed empty as the lift began to get closer, pleased as he was a dead man walking.

"Level Five, Department of International Magical Cooperation, incorporating the International Magical Trading Standards Body, the International Magical Office of Law and the International Confederation of Wizards, British Seats," the voice of the lift said as Draco stepped out, arranging his robes.

Draco's office was the last one on the left, and he could almost see it—he could almost smell the orange and pinecone aroma Pansy had charmed into his office. He should have sensed her though; he should have been more prepared for her to jump out and catch him. Draco's senses tingled just as her bushy mane came into view, and even if it wasn't, he could hear her shoe tapping against the tile as her face morphed into that 'I haven't gotten fucked all week' expression.

He knew what would happen before her mouth even opened. In seconds, Draco would find her arms waving around in all directions as she spoke to him with the same childish tendency that she did to her friends. Draco would then have to remind her that he had a higher level of intelligence compared to those she usually dined with—and then she would snarl before complaining that his apology meant nothing if he continued to be an arse. To which he would feign shock that she used such words, and then she would go red with rage.

His eyes met the angry chestnut ones burning a hole into him as he came to a halt. Her red face was filling with so much anger—so much rage—Draco expected the steam to burst from her ears. Images of her erupting from her feet, exploding out through the roof of the Ministry, ruining the Statue of Secrecy.

"Time."

Draco flicked his wrist out of his robe, twisting his wand in his hand as the time came up over the top. "Ten minutes past eight," he said, straight to the point.

He stopped himself from smirking when she growled under her breath, finding she had quickly fallen into step with him as he continued his walk to his office. A short silence fell between them until she finally spoke and he wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse.

"Do you do this to irritate me? Because, Malfoy, if you do—"

"It's working?" He asked, smirking. "Thank goodness; I can move onto the next stage of my plan."

"Malfoy!"

He sighed. "Believe it or not, Granger, not everything is about irritating you. I am late, because, I am late. There's no planning for it; there's no alternative motive. I am late, because, I am late. I will try to do better tomorrow, BUT since I am usually here way past the time I usually finish and the fact that I come in on occasional weekends, I am sure you can find it in your heart to let ten minutes slide," he said, stopping to meet her gaze.

The woman halted; a puzzled look on her face, unsure if she quite believed what he had just said—knowing her, she didn't. She was Hermione Granger, after all, a know-it-all with room for more knowledge.

Draco, however, didn't care what she thought; he had told her the truth and didn't particularly want to admit to her the exact reason he was struggling to sleep—because she wouldn't understand. Hermione Granger: war heroine, wouldn't understand the fear of people breaking into his home in the middle of the night or that his upcoming date called all be a devious prank to humiliate him. She wouldn't understand the things that kept him up at night because he didn't understand them himself, and they were his thoughts.

Her arms folded, and Draco prepared for the three words she always said when it came to him. "You are lying." Right on queue, he mused to himself.

Draco stopped outside of his office, turning to her before leaning against the door frame. "And you, Granger, are bossy. Now that we've got our morning spar out of the way, do you wish to brief me on whatever menial job you have put me on—it could even help with my sleeping problems, who knows?" Draco asked, gesturing to his office door. "Or shall I just go inside and hex the walls in the hope that one bounces back and knocks me out? As you can tell, I have little patience for theatrics today. I am running on I'd say, oh, two hours sleep."

Hermione stared at him, breathing intensely through her nose as he watched it flare. He tilted his head as he shrugged. "Fine, office and hex it is," Draco said, taking a deep breath as he sensed her followed him inside.

She slammed his door behind them, a shiver running down his spine as his mind suddenly screamed, "unsafe, run. Get out. Hide." Draco cautiously watched as she took a seat, attempting to soothe himself, rooting his feet to the ground. It seemed every day he entered his office; it got a little smaller—a bit more confined. It did nothing for his anxiety or his fear of being in closed spaces—especially when people slammed doors closed, vibrating the walls.

"So, what is it, Granger?"

She rolled her eyes, crossing her legs purposefully. "We need to update some of the old laws and policies; there are too many loopholes."

"We?" he asked, arching a brow curiously. "You want to work with me? You, plus me, we?"

He watched as her eye twitched, and Draco didn't want to be proud of it—but he was. "Yes, 'we'," Hermione said coldly, very unlike her if he was honest. "Since 'we' are the best that this department has; 'we' have to work together. I am not thrilled—"

"Clearly," Draco replied, wearing a smirk to match his sarcasm.

Draco sunk into his seat, placing his palms flat against his desk as he tried to focus on anything but the walls closing in or the paperwork that was still on his desk from a week ago. "If I apologise for upsetting Weasley. Will you be my friend again?"

"Do not mock me, Malfoy."

Draco laughed. "Come on Granger! Now you're prolonging an argument, you know you don't want to be mad at me, you're mad at him for showing up and being a bloody barbarian. See, I wanted to swear and call himself something else—exactly like he did to me." He exclaimed. "But I didn't, see, growth? Although do tell Weasley that I give him props for how inventive he's becoming with his insults, I was quite surprised—"

"Malfoy," Hermione warned.

"He was being a tool, you and I both know this. Who the fuck barges in and demands his fiance for lunch?" Draco snapped. "Also, who the  _hell_  does he think I am? Like I have the power to keep you here, although, again props to him for hitting me—bloody mean right hook—"

"Oh  _come on_ , Malfoy—"

Draco ignored her. "It also wouldn't make any  _difference_  if I actually meant it because you know that I don't, but, we have to work together, so that's the only apology you'll get from me. I don't give them out a lot, if at all, so  _forgive_  me." He waited for a second, giving her chance to catch up as her eyes continued to widen as she processed it all. " _Plus_ , Granger, you have to admit I was growing on you."

Her eyes narrowed. "Like a  _wart_ , maybe."

"A  _handsome_  wart," Draco pointed out to her as she shook her head vehemently.

"You agree, or I'll bring Weasley up here now so we can spar again, you know how much fun we both have—"

"Okay, fine!" Hermione hissed. "A bloody  _handsome_  wart."

Draco smiled, feeling rather pleased with himself that he'd finally got her to admit something—even it was just that. "Now, that wasn't so hard was it, Granger? So, where did you want to start? Please tell me that the 'rather go home and kill myself' laws are first because I don't think I am quite awake for the 'sell my daughter for a hippogriff laws' just yet. Let's save the exciting ones for when you really can't stand me."

Hermione shook her head, half-smiling. "You're  _such_  a comedian."

"Well, someone has to brighten your day, don't they?" Draco smirked, moving the paperwork to his drawer, clearing a space for her. "My office or yours?"

"Yours," Hermione groaned as she stood, "it  _somehow_  smells nicer."

"I'll make sure to tell Pansy you like her  _signature_  scent," Draco called after her.

He summoned his quill, before grabbing a piece of parchment from the side. He knew he had limited time, Granger always having a knack for finding everything she needed the first time around.

 _Sending up Weasley was not what I needed, Potter. Although Granger has forgiven me somewhat for calling her future husband a bloody barbarian. I needed you to come up, take her off my hands so I could nip out to see Parkinson. The bloody woman is giving me a migraine, both of them. Do you know what it is like having two women who both do your head in at the same time?_  
_Being friends with you is the bloody worst, do better next time, Potter.  
_ _Yours, D.M._

Draco quickly folded the parchment, as Hermione's heels clicked closer. He held his wand up, muttering Potter's workstation as he watched the memo zoom past her, nearly taking her eye out—something she glared at him for as she re-entered the office.

* * *

**oOo**


	7. Aphrodite

**Aphrodite**

* * *

" _So_ ," Pansy said, her voice ringing out from the other side of the changing room. "Do I dare ask where you are taking her?"

Draco stopped fingering the navy fabric he was forced to try on to open the changing room door slightly, his eyes immediately seeing that Pansy had in fact 'made herself comfortable' on the sofa outside. He tutted as she crossed one leg over the other, grabbing his glass of orange juice while her other hand grabbed the box of truffles from the table. Draco couldn't help but shake his head in bewilderment—they had just come from lunch, and he wasn't sure he could eat another bite.

"Well, I saw Potter the other day, and he suggested this sushi place, said he had taken a date there and they had enjoyed their evening. I didn't even know he was dating; I still assumed he was with she-Weasley—you know, since they had the sprog." Pansy snorted, and Draco smirked to himself. "So, I was thinking of going to an Italian—" Draco replied, closing the door once more as he stared at the robes Pansy had picked. "Or taking her to this cafe in the village—"

"No, just no," Pansy snorted, and Draco rolled his eyes. "I can hear you rolling your eyes from out here, Malfoy, and it is still a no. In fact, Malfoy, it is a no to all future ideas you may have. You clearly cannot be trusted."

He opened the door, surrendering to her taste in clothing—the robes really were a ridiculous colour. When the shop light hit him again, he suddenly felt a migraine coming on, and he wasn't sure if it was this place or the woman chowing down on all the chocolate.

"Astoria is not like other women—not even like any bloody Pureblood women. You cannot take her to some preapproved restaurant hand-selected by our parents; you have to put some thought into it." Pansy rolled the glass in her hand, looking disappointed that her glass was now empty. "Oh, and don't take her anywhere where there are more forks than either of you want or wish to deal with. Otherwise, one will be in your hand or your fucking eye before long. She has got a vicious temper on her."

Draco smirked as he placed the robe back on the rail, watching it levitate itself back to its rightful place. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his eyes stared around the store, suddenly noticing their new range: Muggle-Blendin-Attire, or MBA for short. Pansy's eyebrows arched as he walked past, a sly smirk graced her lips as he walked over to the rails.

"You sound as though you like her...that's new. You never, ever like my dates," Draco said.

She scoffed. "That may have something to do with the fact that your usual dates don't have a brain cell to mate with, never mind form an idea." Draco looked over his shoulder at her, watching her shrug as she popped another chocolate past her lips. "I have always liked Astoria; she has a lot going for her. Plus she is going to make your Mummy super happy, which means all of our lives will be much improved."

Draco pulled out a black shirt, holding it out to the light. "I think I remember you calling her a bow-beast in our sixth year."

"Well," Pansy said defensively, "she did spend a lot of  _bloody_  time up any available tree. I was merely–"

"—Being a bit of a  _Pansy_?" Draco suggested.

Pansy glared straight at him. "I heavily dislike it when you use my name as a  _verb_ ," she said, looking at him with disgust.

"I think you're flattered," Draco countered.

He didn't need to look at her to know she was scowling, the lights had dimmed, and the room had chilled—it was enough of an indication. "You know I don't actually have to come shopping with you—or put up with you for that matter. I do it because you're fucking helpless without me, and fucking boring—you need me."

Draco put the shirt back, picking out a white one beside it as he felt the fabric between his fingers. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Parkinson—other than a good lay, that is."

"You  _know_  I distinctly remember you were calling her a lot worse. I can remind you of them, if you want to go down this route," she said, watching as he turned to face her, showing her the shirt.

She nodded, and her fingers found another truffle. His eyes narrowing at the near empty box and her lack of embarrassment at it.

Shaking his head, Draco continued. "I also thought slicked back hair was good, that my father knew what he was doing and that you had a kind bone in your body. I guess I was wrong about a lot of things," he smirked, moving to the changing room. She averted his gaze as she popped the last chocolate in her mouth.

Silence fell over them and without the music, Draco had become attached to when they went Muggle shopping, the private changing area just felt uncomfortable. At the last button, Draco stepped out, and her eyes widened.

"You look good," Pansy said, the glass hovering over her lip. "I like the cut."

Trying not to blush—not at all used to compliments. "Are you feeling okay, Parkinson? You never normally like the things I wear," he said, arching an eyebrow.

"If I'm honest, no. For one,  _your face_ , and secondly, the lack of chocolates in this establishment," Pansy said dryly.

Draco shook his head as he grinned, watching her face become serious—somewhat hardening. "Pansy?"

"She's going to fall  _so_  in love with you," she said, smiling before she drained the remnants of the orange juice.

He licked his lips, moving over to her as she tried to blink away tears he had already noticed growing. "You'll always be my main girl; you know that right?"

Licking the liquid from her lips, she arched a brow at him. "I better be. Don't go forgetting me when you're married with  _mini-Malfoys_  running around," she said.

"It's  _one_  date."

Pansy rose from the chair while Draco turned and began unbuttoning the shirt, not caring to stand behind the curtain.

"It's isn't  _just_  a date, Malfoy. It is a date with a girl  _you_  picked, not someone that's was chosen for you," Pansy said, handing him a tie that he graciously took. "I'll go pick you out some shoes. Go get changed; I am in  _dire_  need of a more interesting drink."

His mouth was agape as Pansy sauntered away, suddenly noticing a glow on her cheeks that wasn't there days ago.

* * *

Draco had been a wreck in the hours leading up to the date. He found his hands shook more than he ever had, and although he had gotten himself dressed a good hour before he needed to, he still felt unprepared.

His worries seem to fade for a second when Draco clapped eyes on her; she looked beautiful he had to check his heart hadn't stopped. Then everything went downhill from there, the waiter—at the restaurant recommended to him—wasn't pleased that Draco had even entered the building, never mind there with Astoria. When she had sweetly asked the waiter to butt out, they were seated, and Draco's hell indeed began.

Having never been an uncomfortable man around women, Draco was thrown off when he began sweating as if someone had placed a warming spell over him. He was forced to set a napkin to his head as he spoke, too afraid she would notice the beads against his forehead and think it was something to do with her. The worst part was that she looked just as uncomfortable as he felt—which only seemed to make him sweat more, and his glass fell through his hand shattering to the ground beside them.

"Let's get out of here," Astoria suggested, begging him with her eyes—the disappointment that grew in his chest was hard to swallow and even harder to ignore. "You look like you're about to pass out and, well, the waiter keeps eyeing me up."

Draco felt all the nerves that had been growing in his chest all day, suddenly turned to anger. It took all of his restraint not to storm over to the waiter and punch him square in the nose—Granger style—and give him a verbal review he would never forget. The main reason he didn't, the look she gave him as he helped her into her coat—the look that made him feel like a good person.

The fresh air greeted them as they stepped awkwardly into the street, her hands moving into her pockets as her shoulders remained around her ears. Even if Draco had wanted to salvage the night, he wasn't sure there was much of it. He racked his brain for something—anything—to say, but all he could think of was insults, and he didn't think trashing the waiter was the way to impress her.

"You tried  _way_  too hard," Astoria said suddenly, the two of them walking side by side down the pavement. "I mean it would be sweet for another girl,  _but_ , Draco, I-I'm not that kind of girl."

Draco nodded, fixing his eyes two steps ahead of him—hoping he could avoid her gaze all the way back to the public Floo point.

Astoria's hand took his arm and forced him to stop in his steps. "Look," she said, rubbing his jacket with her fingers. "I don't need you to wine and dine me; I can do that for myself. I didn't agree to this date because of money or your blood status or any of those pathetic aristocratic rules. I wanted to come on a date with you because you seem like someone who knew that I'm not a brainless moron who would allow you to sit there and let you pick the wine for me. I like  _crisp_ , white wine, nothing sweet or expensive. I know what I like, I don't expect you to."

"Astoria—"

" _No_ ," she said, her free hand rising to silence him. "I want to go on a date with  _you_ , not a Malfoy, not a Pureblood, not even a bloody wizard. I want to go out with you, Draco. A man who spars with me because it's fun. Now, if  _you_   _think_  you can—"

He didn't let her finish—even if he knew he should have. His lips had darted out, pressing themselves to hers, and uncaring for the ramifications as his fingers traced up the back of her neck. It was wrong, but all so right; the night wasn't perfect, but she was perfection—and it became so much better when he felt her respond, softly moving her lips in time with his.

It wasn't like a kiss he had experienced, and while Draco Malfoy— _son of an ex-Death Eater_ —never wanted to admit to thinking such, the kiss felt like a fairytale. He felt something inside of him unlock, a light that he had long since thought had been diminished, when in truth, a girl had the key the entire time. And it was this girl, this perfect, brilliant woman he had been too stupid to notice sooner.

Draco parted from her, holding her chin as he let out a content sigh. "Where have you been all my life?" The words slipping out before he could think of retracting them, and as he watched her eyes soften, he didn't care if he had made a fool of himself. "Sorry, I just...kissed you."

Astoria smirked as she took a step back. "That  _complete_  mess of a date doesn't even earn you a peck on the cheek, but since you stole one, I guess I will let it slide," she said, and Draco chuckled—he couldn't help it. "Next time, however, you earn it, you got me?"

Clasping a hand to his chest, he nodded, bowing his head for extra dramatics as she laughed.

"And  _please_ , Draco, just something casual—it doesn't even have to be a 'date' date. Just, us two, alone! I will try not to be so un-resistible that the waiter leeches over me, and you can try not to drown in sweat." Her lips twisted up into a grin. "If you're even luckier, I may even show you how I hang upside down from trees." A radiant smile suddenly lighting up her face.

Draco scoffed. "Because that's what all boys like,  _upside_  down dates—we aren't bats, Astoria."

Astoria smirked. "The  _flexibility_  you need to climb a tree is a skill all must have—you'd be  _surprised_  how useful it is," she said, winking as she walked backwards from him, sticking out her tongue playfully.

His mouth fell agape before he could stop it, his eyes trained on her as she spun to turn her back to him. "Now I've gotten your attention, haven't I?"

Draco sighed, suddenly striding after her. "You  _always_  have my attention."

Astoria looked over her shoulder at him; her cheeks were rosy with blush. "Come on  _lover boy,_  walk me home," she said, watching as he caught up with her and they fell into step with each other.

Astoria's lips curled up into a smirk as she held on to his arm, wrapping her fingers around his jacket. "Please do not try so hard next time," she said, looking into his grey eyes.

"You really want a  _next_  time?" He asked, bracing himself just in case she was joking.

The two reached the public Floo point, and Draco tried not to be downcast about the evening. As though reading his thoughts—and dismay—Astoria rose onto the toes of her heels, pressing a kiss against his cheek. "Yes, as penance for my many sins I suppose. Friday."

" _Friday_?" Draco asked, needing to ensure he'd heard correctly.

"Friday," she confirmed, smiling. "The pub at seven—our pub. Don't you dare wear a bloody suit otherwise I'll make you take it off." She took a handful of powder, stepping onto the grate of the fireplace. "Oh,  _and Malfoy_? You didn't do that bad tonight. Please don't beat yourself up, okay?" Draco nodded, and she smiled. "Good, well, I'll see you around and if not,  _Friday_. Goodnight Draco," Astoria said, dropping the powder as he watched green flames engulf her.

* * *

Friday seemed years away when Draco walked into work on Monday—the kiss still heavily swirling around his mind, thankful for Sunday and the peace that came with them. He didn't bite at Granger all week; he barely insulted Weasley—Draco was actually sure he complimented him at one point, to the shock of both of them. And soon enough, like the Gods of karma were on his side, Friday was here.

The orange street lamps lit up the small village like fire charms captured in jars. Draco had always been one to scowl and roll his eyes at those who claimed they had fallen in love at first sight—but as Astoria walked inside of the pub, he was sure he had just been hit with the arrow or spell, whatever weapon love had up its sleeve.

"I'm surprised that you're still able to come out with me," Astoria whispered. "I saw Blaise earlier; he looked rather  _disturbed_? Is he back living with you?"

" _Disturbed_  seems to be his nature these days," Draco replied, standing to help her out of her coat. "And living with me is a stretch, he occasionally turns up and refuses to leave for a few days. It's like having a cat, that isn't yours, eats and drinks your things but refuses to go until there is nothing left.

Astoria bit back a giggle as she sat in the seat opposite him, her eyes narrowed at his usual table behind them. "I should apologise for the grief my sister's behaviour is causing. She can be a little dense at times—although, I do think they both brought this on themselves."

Draco took her hand in his before stroked a thumb against her skin. "The dying swan got his last request in before I came to pick you up. 'Mate, get me some cheese twists, mate, get me some whiskey.' It's like having a human man-child living with me. He is fine as long as he can pump liquor into his liver—he's okay. Don't feel bad for him; the sympathy might inflate his head," he said, giving her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

She was about to respond—he had been watching her lips—but she was never allowed to finish as a group of rowdy men stumbled into the place. He couldn't help but groan; he couldn't help but clench his jaw.

There was no way Draco wanted another bad date; he wasn't sure his ego could take it. He tried to think less like a Pureblood, and more as the man sat before her—but all that he had in his head was restaurants and wineries, that was until he remembered a faint voice describing their perfect date.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Draco asked, and her eyebrow rose. "Trust me; it  _isn't_  a restaurant."

Astoria replied with a nod and a wicked smile, and Draco suddenly felt like he was in a test. He—like the chivalrous gentleman he was—helped her into her coat; he held the door open for her, attempting to be normal, but considerate—without bordering on over the top. Which, if he was honest, was a fucking minefield to get his head around. Draco listened to her become impatient as he walked her down the street, her eyes looking around, but he didn't fill the silence with his plan—he wanted to surprise her, show her he knew her.

When Astoria seemingly slipped her hand down his arm, looping her fingers with his, Draco felt a smile grow on his face. He wasn't one to smile—and he wanted to ask himself what the fuck had happened to turn him into this romantic mess of a man. Not that he was complaining, he somewhat liked the person he was with her.

Draco tried his best to not appear nervous in front of her, but when her voice cut through the air, Draco jumped from his skin.

"So,  _scaredy-cat,_ " Astoria teased, "where are you taking me?"

For a second, or two—possibly three—Draco didn't answer, or look at her; instead, holding tightly onto her hand, needing to mould his touch to hers. When they arrived at the gate, Draco finally managed to meet her gaze. "You said low-key..."

"Well, yes," Astoria replied, her lips curling into a smirk.

Draco nodded, pushing the gate to the field. "So, I am doing just that. I  _thought—_ "

"Oh,  _here_  we go," Astoria said, rolling her eyes before giggling as he poked her hip.

"—I thought we could go for a walk under the moon and stars, you can show me your tree and  _your flexibility,_  while you do some digging into my life," he said. "Does that sound okay to you?"

Astoria looked at him both impressed and shocked. Her eyes were sparkling with happy tears that made her eyes gleam. "It sounds, so beautiful."

Leading her through the gate, Draco held her hand the entire time. After only a few steps, he noticed the clouds parting to reveal the moon beaming brightly in the night sky, illuminating the field, giving it a soft glow making it seem full of magic. He looked to see her face lighting up, apparently noticing the same thing and their eyes met as they both blushed under the others gaze.

Draco was the first to break from her stare, turning to look around them as they both kicked at the long grass and weeds. He was thankful she wasn't in a skirt—not just for her legs in the field, but because her jeans hugged parts of her, he didn't know existed.  _Muggle clothing 1, wizard clothing 0_ —he mused to himself.

"This is amazing," she said, breaking from his hand as she moved to twirl on the spot. "But—"

"No buts," Draco interrupted as she playfully pouted. "I'm serious—"

"That's your issue, you are far too serious," Astoria teased, coming to a stop as Draco watched her stumble from dizziness. "You came up with this yourself?" Astoria asked, and he nodded in response. " _Fuck—_ "

" _Astoria_!" He hissed, and she laughed, moving closer to him as she gripped hold of his jacket. "A lady shouldn't swear!"

Her tongue licked her lips, and her eyes darkened with something he wasn't quite ready to acknowledge. " _First_  question, do you really despise having Blaise around or is it a cover-up for how much you adore him?"

Taking her hands in his, placing her small palms against his chest as he stared at her dead in the eye. " _Zabini_  is a selfish, inconsiderate bastard who eats all my food—as though he has none of his own, rotting away in his own house—but,  _he's my_  selfish, inconsiderate bastard. I've grown to like him, like a mole."

She twitched her nose, and he committed the sight to memory—never having before seen anything  _quite_  as adorable. "Next question," Astoria said, interrupting his thoughts. "If you had to sleep with—"

"Fuck,  _no—_ "

"—with either  _Potter or Theo_ , who would you pick?"

Astoria broke from his hold, spinning amongst the grass as the stars shone in her eyes. He wanted to hate her for asking—knowing he had to speak the truth—but even if she were the most devious Ravenclaw ever to enter his snake lair, he wouldn't ever kick her out, never mind hate her.

"Potter," Draco reluctantly replied as she snorted and laughed. He took the opportunity to stride to her, grabbing her from behind as she giggled and thrashed. "What kind of question—"

"I  _knew_  it!" She exclaimed.

Draco laughed, finding the sound from her lips so intoxicating he couldn't resist. "You are a menace, Greengrass."

"I think you  _quite_  like it though, don't you, Malfoy?"

He looped his hands around her waist, feeling her hands brush down his arms. It was technically their second date, but Draco felt like she had been with him for years. Her head rubbed against his chest, the scent of coconut and peace tickling his nose as she looked up at him.

"Feels like an eternity,  _doesn't_  it? Us. It's our second date; I'm not sure a lady would fall for a lord so quickly."

Draco pressed a kiss to her forehead, finding it more natural than he ever expected it too. "Good job there's not a lady around, or a  _lord_ , isn't it?"

Astoria smirked, turning in his arms as she rose onto her tiptoes—similarly to their first, awful, date. "I think you earned this," she said before pressing her mouth to his, eclipsing him in sweetness, hope, and second chances, and Draco immediately drunk on Astoria Greengrass,  _never_  wishing to be sober again.

* * *

**oOo**


	8. Dionysus

**Dionysus**

* * *

Draco scanned his eyes over the parchment that lay in front of him, organising the pile of work he had brought home with him. He didn't want to think about how long he spent reshuffling, sorting, and putting each piece of parchment into order; in his opinion, it was time well spent, but he knew it was the obsessive compulsion festering inside of him.

It hadn't been his intention to bring his work life home, but since Blaise had turned up on his doorstep after his date with Astoria—and showed no signs of leaving—Draco relocated to his dining room. He groaned in displeasure when he noticed—once again—his mug was empty.

Draco knew he could refill with magic, but as he flexed his fingers, twisting his aching wrist—he didn't want to. There was something about pouring with his own hands—a thought he had never thought he'd think up. Instead of doing any of that, Draco massaged his scalp, hoping to ease a headache away with goodwill and intentions.

The headache had been rotting in his brain for two full days, having arrived with Blaise and fuelled with idiotic people who suddenly felt he was approachable. He was not good at giving advice, he never had—but somehow, each hour another employee was at his door, asking for help with something way over Draco's head. He suspected it was Weasley, and he smirked at the man's confidence and balls.

Having hope for peace and tranquillity at home, especially with Silencing Charms and plying Blaise with enough alcohol to force him into a coma the night before, it had seemed likely. Draco was wrong—he was always fucking wrong.

The quiet he had built was suddenly interrupted when the fire ignited in the hearth, a face appearing in the middle of the flames. Draco noticed that even in the flickering emerald, green flames, Granger's hair still seemed to be wild and uncontrollable. A fire-call was almost as bad as talking to her face to face, and he grimaced at the furrowed glare that met him.

"Granger," Draco sighed, throwing down his quill. "How lovely of you to thrust your face into my home, without an invite."

She pursed her lips, and he raised his brows for her to speak. "I see you are in your usual dry mood, and there was me thinking you'd be much happier working in your own environment."

He shrugged. "Does that surprise you?" he asked.

"No," she said sharply, looking flustered as her eyes softened. "Are you going to invite me in?"

Draco took a few minutes to ponder his answer—moving his head from side to side, scrunching his face up as he contemplated, dragging it out as long as possible. Knowing Granger, the prolonged wait would annoy her more than his attitude, and he took great enjoyment in teasing her where he could.

Placing his palms flat on the table, he smirked. "To be honest, no, Granger. You see, I'm only working from home so that I can avoid you as I don't need another person pestering—"

The sound of a clearing throat caused Draco to trail off, turning and noticing Blaise stood in the doorway of his dining room. Draco gritted his teeth. Two pests, one home—his new hell.

"Ah, Hermione Granger, what a lovely surprise to see your head in my mate's dining room," Blaise chuckled, smirking to himself as he entered the dining room, levitating some of Draco's bread into his hand. "The green, it suits you. Red and gold never did do you so many favours."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Granger,  _meet Pest_ ," Draco said, motioning to Blaise who blew a kiss in his direction. "Blaise, meet  _work-Pest_. Now, Granger, can whatever you need from me wait, at all?"

He noticed the way she sighed in utter disappointment—like she really needed him—until a smile graced her lips. "Sure... I'll see you  _tomorrow_ ," she said.

Draco was about to bid her goodbye, but he never got the chance as she left the flames in a hurry, and he suddenly felt slightly suspicious of the randomness of her arrival. He rolled his eyes at her abrupt manner, attempting to seem unfazed—even if he was anything but. If Blaise hadn't of walked in on the two of them, Draco would have forced her to sit down and pour out her woeful, lion heart. He could go after her, he knew that—but Blaise needed him.

That is what he told himself; that is what he came to peace with.

Draco questioned when the tide change and he suddenly began to care for Hermione Granger. She hadn't been easy at first, but slowly, like a disease, Draco wormed his way in—and so far, she hadn't tried to rid herself of him yet. Most oddly—and even Draco could agree to this—they worked well together; their intelligence often on par, and his dryness combined with her need to please complimented their job. He hadn't quite known when she had become more than a colleague, and more of a friend—but she put up with a lot of his crap, and he thought better of suspecting it too much.

Blaise dropped down into the chair beside him, picking up a piece of parchment that he glanced over for a moment before putting it back down. "So, are you going to explain what is going on?" Blaise asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Do you mean about  _my_  work or Granger's  _face_  in the fireplace?"

"Um, I obviously mean  _Granger_ ," Blaise snapped.

"To you?" Draco taunted. "No, I don't think so, not for one second." Draco averted his gaze, focusing on the piece of parchment in front of him. "You can drain me of my alcohol, my food, and even my patience, but you will not take my secrets, Zabini."

"Draco."

"Pest, would you, you know, leave it," Draco huffed, beginning to get beyond annoyed. "We work together, and that is all there is to it."

"It didn't look like that to me," Blaise said, biting into the slice of bread he held. "House calls don't seem to fit as part of your job."

Draco sighed and turned to glare at his friend, scrunching the parchment in his grip. "If you want drama so bad, why don't you go and talk to Parkinson or hang out with Nott. I am friends with Granger—Granger who is in love with a Weasel, who is friends with Potter, who I am now friends with, and I am in…" he trailed off, looking down at the floor until he found the right words. "I am beginning, scarily, to fall for a girl who deserves far better than me."

Blaise sat back in his chair. " _Fuck_...You love her?"

He flung the parchment at his friend, taking his eyes from Blaise to the table and back again. "Maybe,  _alright_? I might be falling for a girl, okay? So can you, be less of a dick?"

Blaise sighed, tearing another bite from the bread. "I'll try."

* * *

It hadn't even taken a second thought as Draco left the letter from Potter on the dining table, his hand grabbing his robe and his wand from the dresser to his left as he skidded out of the door. Draco hadn't been careful; he hadn't approached with caution—he just banged the oak door with all his might, not caring if he broke her door or not.

When Pansy opened the door dressed in a rather unfitting purple dressing gown and sporting slightly red eyes; her dark hair falling in a way he had never seen it, disorganised, messy and looking a bit like Grangers, he knew that his impulse to come here had been right. She looked close to breaking, more so than she had in the restaurant.

The two of them had been through far too together, so much even that Draco knew her mood without her spitting out a single word. He could feel her pain radiating from her—if he was honestly truthful, he had felt it in his bones for a while, but had been too selfish to realise it. Some would say they were both hard to read, but Draco could bet his entire inheritance on her knowing him inside and out, just as he did with her.

Draco licked his lips as he softened his usually hard expression, her lips parting as he heard and felt the sigh leave her lips. It was one of those moments where time seems to pause, allowing him a little longer to see what he was really dealing with—a broken heart, shattering in her chest, inflicting pain she had never felt. The extra few seconds gave him the chance to see the tissues poking out from her pocket, the fact that she was wearing no shoes or makeup—everything a Parkinson would never forget.

He realised with a heavy heart that the bags under her eyes were not new and the red lines in her eyes—from alcohol, and not tears—weren't just from the night before, they had been building for days. Draco could only imagine how long ago it was when she had last eaten—knowing how bad he had been after the war, when he felt as though he was falling apart.

He tried to diminish the feeling in his stomach that this was his fault—he had been so happy, living in ignorant bliss that Draco had forgotten about her. Draco had foolishly ignored that Pansy needed him as much as he needed her. Two lost souls, clinging to one another as they tried to figure out this new world together. He felt guilty because he should have pushed for more information when she had broken down, after all, he worked with one half of the reason she was so upset.

Draco took this moment to hold his hand up, the carrier bag he knew she'd recognise hanging from his wrist as her lip began to tremble. He watched as new tears started to emerge from her dark eyes, leaving crystal tear tracks down her cold, pale cheeks.

"Y—you  _bought_  me ice cream?" Pansy sniffled as he opened his other arm for her to fall into, catching her, feeling her thin body collapsed against his.

Draco pressed a kiss against her hair. "I will always be here to buy you ice cream," he whispered, pulling her closer as he felt her unravel, her tears soaking through his shirt; feeling her shake, felt the pain, tremble, and break. "I am always here, alright?"

"He's—he's—"

"He's a  _fucking_  bitch boy, Pansy," Draco said as he kissed the top of her head, wrapping his other arm around her delicately as he felt her fingers grasp the back of his shirt, slipping under his jacket. "I am so sorry. I'm sorry he is a fucking idiot, but I resisted hexing him, even if the prick deserves it."

Pansy's hand tugged at him once more, her head turning to the side on his chest as he saw the side of her face, the pinked skin and emptiness in the usually fierce eyes. "Chocolate chip?"

"Better," Draco whispered as he felt her let out a small laugh against him.

"Mint  _chocolate_  chip?"

"Correct," he smiled as he kissed her forehead again, her eyes slowly looking up at him. "This is what family does Parkinson."

Her lips trembled again, but she seemed to be holding back another onslaught of tears as her hands began to ease from their grip on his shirt. Pansy moved around him, gently burying herself into his side as she softly nodded; the walls that were usually around her, came down, and Draco relaxed as she began to feel safe.

"Now, let's go eat all of this. Let's talk about what the fuck you were doing? And then we can harvest a plan of revenge," Draco suggested, her eyes twinkling back at him. "Remember,  _no man is worth your tears. No man_ —"

"— _Because, they are too expensive_ ," Pansy interrupted, wiggling her lips from side to side as he smiled. "I hate that you remember everything."

His hand wiped a running tear from the end of her nose. "No you don't, you love that I remember everything."

"Yeah," she sighed, "I guess I like it." Her hands were falling to her side as she took a large breath, her eyes lowering to the ground before she raised a hand to wipe her face. "Thank you...for coming."

"You don't  _have_  to thank me, this, this is what family —"

"Is for," Pansy finished, her eyes meeting his as they both nodded. "Ugh, I can't believe you are my brother—you're so  _gross_.."

Draco nudged her jokingly as she snorted. "Get inside  _you_ ," following her inside as he chuckled himself, closing the door behind him. "Tell me all about the fantastic,  _fucking_ , Potter, and how and why I  _shouldn't_  kill him."

* * *

It had been no surprise when Draco finally returned to work that Granger suddenly didn't want to discuss, what apparently wasn't a big deal—but big enough to thrust her huge hair through his fireplace. With the 'Blaise-Headache' very much still around, he didn't argue, and just allowed her to whittle on with whatever new law she wished him to look into for her.

Draco had gotten himself stuck in, considering if he focused on something else—other than Blaise being in his house, touching his things—he might be able to drive away the headache that had plagued him. He hadn't been so lucky, and when he threw his quill down in defeat, a face thrust through the door that seemed to eclipse all his annoyance, and bring sunshine.

"Surprise!"

Draco looked up to see Astoria stood in the doorway of his office, a smile on her face that Draco could only describe as mischievous. She wore a light blue dress that stopped mid-thigh and her hair down past her shoulders.

"I thought we could have lunch and,  _wine_?" she said, hopefully.

"Lunch and wine,  _mmm-hmmm_ ," Draco replied, smirking as he filed his paperwork into a suitable order before standing up. "I am starting to think that you may enjoy my company, Astoria," he teased, grabbing his coat off the rack.

She smiled sinfully before taking his hand, leading him out of the office. "Well,  _maybe_  I thought you deserved a treat and an afternoon off," Astoria said.

"What  _have_  I done to deserve this wondrous surprise?"

Astoria shrugged, her hair bouncing off her shoulders when she added a small bounce to her walk as the two of them entered the lift. Neither of them spoke once inside, the other employees looking at them with confusion, but Draco found Astoria's silence to be refreshing rather than awkward.

Draco couldn't recall how he got out of the Ministry, entirely in a daze from being in her presence—especially when her fingers looped in his fingers. She was making a stand, a 'we are currently dating stand' or an 'I'm not afraid to be with him in public' stand. Either stand, it sent his heart racing and made his throat dry, thankfully only a few minutes later, the two of them found themselves on the busy streets of London, sunshine showering down on them.

"Your office is a lot smaller than I thought," Astoria said—out of nowhere—her tone full of mockery, pretending to be disgust. "I expected there to be a statue in your honour and a bloody elf in the corner. Or even some blasted peacocks feasting on a corpse of an employee that had displeased you."

Draco snorted. "I have grown up, Greengrass, grand items and bragging don't appeal to me anymore." He paused, allowing it to sink in. "And, I will say that the peacocks belong to my father."

Astoria shrugged her shoulders and smiled brightly. "I guess—since you have grown up, after all—you won't fancy having pancakes for lunch then?"

He opened his mouth to speak, looking like a floundering fish on a hook, which made her giggle.

"It was your dream, wasn't it? Breakfast for lunch?" she asked.

Draco stopped, pulling them both to a halt as people filtered around them. "How did you—"

Astoria moved closer to him, pressing a hand against his chest—Draco's heart thumping against her palm as though it wanted to rip out of his chest, and reunite with her. Her lips spread into a grin, one that stole his words, stole everything from inside of him and made him empty, just for a second.

"I listen, you know?" She replied, "Around that field, I got to ask you  _a lot of_ questions."

He didn't think, he just acted. Draco's hand finding a way up her neck, leaving goosebumps as he moved to lower his head—hoping to press his lips against hers. There was so much he wanted to say, but it wouldn't sound genuine—not like an action would.

Draco didn't get the chance.

" _Tori_?" A voice called out, and Astoria groaned before pulling away from Draco.

He knew that voice; he knew it as well as she did. That voice had haunted his common room, his thoughts out of school, and had riddled its way into his best friend—forcing him to live in his spare bedroom. Daphne was nothing like Astoria—for one, she was blond and loud, while Astoria was brown haired and quiet; Daphne looked misplaced stood on the street with them, drenched in high-fashion clothes—while the two of them stood side-by-side, looking as regular as they came.

"What are you doing here? Is Blaise with you?"

Astoria's eyes widened in disbelief at her sister's answer, as though not believing her nerve. "Well, Daphne, unless you need corrective surgery—or glasses—you can see he's not here. Do I need to remind you that you are engaged?"

"As if  _you_  care for propriety," Daphne teased, pouting her lips. "I need to speak to him—it is rather urgent. Do you know where I'd find him?"

Daphne's eyes moved to Draco's, and he stiffened under their gaze. It wasn't soft, it was purposeful and hard, and Draco could only mutter profanities under his breath—aimed explicitly at Blaise—as he felt the tension between Astoria and Daphne grow. It felt lightening about smash down on to the pavement, like thunder that wished to crack apart the sky.

"You need to get over this," Astoria said, firmly, taking her sister's hand. "You are getting married, to a nice man."

Her sister softened her stare, a sigh passing Daphne's lip glossed lips. "You missed your appointment, why?"

" _Appointment_?" Draco asked, looking at Astoria—whose cheeks had suddenly gone red.

Daphne looked at him, sharply, as though he had spoken out of turn—or possibly been rude. He knew he was neither, not in this case anyway, and Daphne seemed to read him—just like he usually did.

"He doesn't know,  _does_  he?" Daphne asked, confusion and aghast written all over her face. When Astoria just rolled her eyes at her, Daphne continued, "You  _silly_  little girl, you will break his heart!"

A suffocating—painful—silence filled the air as Draco stood on the pavement watching Astoria and Daphne stare down at one another. He felt confused, more so than Daphne—which was some feat—and he wanted to leave them to it, but curiosity, and the need to understand compelled him to stay. Daphne—who seemed to remember he was stood there—met his gaze, a daunting look in her eyes, and he knew whatever she was about to share wouldn't be good.

"Her  _appointment_ , with the  _Healer_ ," Daphne said, highlight the last word as she shot it at Astoria, "She is ill. She needs to attend the—"

Astoria snorted. "I don't  _need_  to do anything, Daphne. It isn't your business—"

"It is my interest when my sister could drop dead at any point!" Daphne spat, and the street silenced.

The cars stopped making a noise; a ringing appeared in Draco's ear. His hand found Astoria's hip, needing to grab onto something—and she was closest. As his fingers looped around her, Draco looked into Astoria's eyes—searching for any indication that it was a lie.

But he knew the truth before he had looked into them. Daphne was many things, but she was never a liar—and she would never hurt her sister, not intentionally anyway. Astoria's eyes screamed the truth, they broke, shattered and the brightness in them seemed to fade. Draco felt her fingers peel off his grip from her hip, a tear falling down her face as she shoved past her sister—all bouncy hair and blue dress running away from them.

He had tried to find the words to tell her something—anything. Draco watched her run, wanting to say to her it didn't matter because it genuinely didn't, he was already in, he was already falling in love with her.

Daphne sniffed, and Draco brought his attention back to her. She looked downcast, but there was no remorse on her face—only a half-smile, the mask all Purebloods usually wore.

"She could die before you get a chance to put a ring on her, yeah, I can see it—it's there, in those  _bloody, ridiculous grey_ eyes. I doubt she will make it to her thirtieth birthday," Daphne added, apparently not knowing when to stop.

"Isn't that  _more_  than enough of a reason to let her enjoy the moments she can, and not be a selfish  _little bitch_  then, Daphne? You just  _hurt_  her, and you know that—I can see it in those  _stupid blue_ eyes of yours," he said, anger filling him.

He didn't wait for a response—he didn't wait for anything. He just ran, not knowing where he was going or even where Astoria had gone. Draco just ran—and it felt freeing. It was like being on a broom again, wind rushing past his air, adrenaline thumping through his veins; for so long he hadn't felt alive, and now, he felt everything. He felt his heart, he felt his brain whirring—swirling with intelligence—and he felt his soul, aching to be reunited with the one it loved.

"Astoria?" He cried out, seeing her hunched over near a closed down shop at the end of the street, the crowd had dwindled, just two or three left behind, other than them. He bent over to catch his breath, sort of smiling as he felt her hand rub his back. Fuck he was unfit, he thought, making him laugh to himself.

When he straightened out, Astoria didn't look at him. Instead, she focused her eyes down at her hands, wringing together nervously as tears that had been threatening to fall, traced down her cheeks.

" _Astoria…_ "

"Draco, just—"

"I don't care," he said, quickly, interrupting her. "I won't even hold whatever you haven't told me against you. Why would you tell me anyway? We've been on like—three good dates. And that is if we include this one—which for the record, isn't as good as my field date." He paused, letting her smile before he took one of her hands. "Although I am starting to believe you are cursed. Something repeatedly happens to you and your sweet gestures, but I won't hold it against you."

Astoria smirked and crossed her one arm around her waist. "Maybe it is you that is cursed," she replied, being her usual self.

"Quite possibly," Draco agreed. "Look, I  _like_  you, for my sins apparently but, I do. Let's just, try this okay? Let's just go for a walk in another direction and hope that we aren't interrupted."

She seemed to think about it, her eyes narrowing and widening before he watched her lips part. She was hesitating, something eating her up—and he gripped her hand a little tighter, giving her permission to ask. And thankfully, for both of them, she did.

"Why  _did_  you approach me?" Astoria whispered, and Draco frowned in response. "After that night, when I was horrible, you still approached me, in the street. Why?"

He shrugged his shoulders, not really wishing to be honest about those feelings just yet—he had said too much as it was.

"There must be a reason as to why you felt the intention to be struck down again."

Draco sighed, knowing she wasn't about to let it go. "You  _said_  no."

Astoria nodded. "I  _know_  I said no."

Draco sighed, his free hand moving from his coat pocket to rub his face, moving to stand beside her and lean against the building. "Before 'Hell' happened," Draco began, "I was fine with women. I only had to say a few words before they were on top of me. After, I guess, I abused their idea of what they thought I was and never enjoyed myself."

" _Okay_?" Astoria mumbled, apparently confused as to where he was going with his explanation.

"I knew you'd say no, but this small voice in my head told me to go for it anyway," Draco continued, feeling brave enough to meet her eyes—finding the brightness back in them. "So I did, and you shot me down, and I thought that would be it. But then, you erupted into this wondrous fiery woman; you had so much passion and, I hated you for hitting me where it hurt, but I admired you all the same. You told me things about myself no one has been brave enough to do."

Draco paused, and tugged on her hand, pulling her closer. Astoria moved before him, stood facing him as he straightened himself against the wall—almost flush with it as she placed her arm inside of his coat, resting against his hip. His free hand brushed away her hair from her neck, massaging the skin on show near her shoulder.

"You  _blew_  me away, Greengrass. I guess I thought you were someone other than who you really are. You're so opinionated and passionate; you're intelligent far beyond your years, and to top it off,  _you're so beautiful_ ," Draco said, not slowing the truth from coming out.

"Is this where my  _knees_  are supposed to go  _weak_?"

"No," Draco said as he snickered. "But that is why I came after you that night. I know you won't put up with me, you'd  _put_  me in my place and—"

"I said  _no_ ," Astoria finished.

Draco nodded, finding her flush against him. "You said no."

"I think  _you are_  falling for me," she whispered.

He felt his cheeks go pink, his ears burning—but he wasn't afraid anymore. "Already fallen, Greengrass," Draco whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips.

* * *

**oOo**


	9. Theia

**Theia**

* * *

As soon as Draco walked through the pub door, he knew his friends were talking about him; it was confirmed by Theo's  _shit-eating_  grin and Blaise chuckling to himself. Draco had no idea why he was  _fucking_  friends with these idiots.

He didn't speak as he sat down, shaking off the cold from outside as he stole Blaise's drink, and silenced him with a look before his friend dared protest. They had always been wind-up merchants, but on some days, they really took the piss.

Draco had been late for two reasons: one because Blaise was a fucking dickhead who decided to hide most of Draco's clothes; two because Draco had spent the night before talking to Astoria, having fallen asleep on her sofa—fully clothed, he wanted to add—and needing to nap during the day.

"He's smiling," Theo teased, interrupting Draco's thoughts as he narrowed his eyes at his friend, finishing Blaise's drink.

Blaise grabbed the empty glass from him. "And we  _all_ know what  _that_  means," Blaise smirked, "Lil' boy Malfoy has a crush—"

"—Probably, not a small one either—" Theo added.

Blaise nodding. "—No, a rather large one I reckon. One that may even involve the  _L_ word."

Draco used all his concentration to focus on the overzealous song coming from the jukebox. He didn't  _hate_  Muggle music, but sometimes, he had to be in the mood for it. Letting out a sigh, Draco relaxed into his chair until a sharp pain cast his eyes over to Theo beside him.

"Trying to ignore us, mate?" Theo snarled.

Draco pulled down his jumper as he cleared his throat. "Ignore you both, no! Trying to pretend you don't exist, yes."

"You wound us," Blaise said, laughing.

Theo smirked. "You do realise, O'Intelligent One, that pretending we don't exist is awfully similar to ignoring us. Like we'd ever  _allow_  you to forget we exist."

Draco shook his head, fighting a smirk as the barman came over, giving them their usuals. Draco nodded in gratitude, pulling out his wallet as the owner held his hand up, and Draco frowned.

"We sorted it before you got here," Blaise added as he sipped his drink. "Found an awful lot of  _notes_  in your pockets."

"You fucking—"

"Language, Malfoy. This is a respectable establishment." Blaise paused, allowing him to fume for a second before he continued his taunting. "You going to tell us all the dirty details or am I going to have to continue to imagine—"

"Stop imagining me having sex Zabini," Draco hissed as Theo snorted. "And you, just in case you seem to think you're exempt from it."

Theo shrugged, seemingly unfazed. "I feel we have had this conversation before, but for the record... _You_ , are not my type.  _Potter_ , however —"

"Oh you  _fucking_  despicable human being," Draco interrupted as Theo raucously laughed.

Shaking his head in mixed disgust and hoping to banish the images he was getting in his head, Draco knocked back his drink.

"Now," Theo said, "your cagey behaviour either means you have feelings for her—which is obscene, you have the heart of a rock.  _Or_ , you know, she was so shit in bed, and you don't wish to be rude knowing we will still have to see her."

Looking over at Blaise, expecting some help or disgust over the suggestion, Draco wasn't deeply surprised to find Blaise agreeing with Theo—the idiots.

Straightening up, and tensing his jaw. "Have you considered that it could be neither and I just wish to keep some things private—"

" _Bullshit_!" Theo laughed sarcastically. "The only thing you kept private was that you worked with Granger," moving closer as he muttered, " _yes_ , Blaise did tell me. We share things because  _we_  are friends."

Draco shot a venomous look at Blaise who suddenly only seemed interested in the bottom of his glass and missed the somewhat menacing glare.

"I mean,  _trust me_ , I wish you'd kept plenty secret over the years but, right now. You, do not keep things secret," Theo argued.

Draco shrugged lightly. "Maybe I am trying something new."

"Or doing  _something_  new."

Feeling the pinch of annoyance inside of himself, Draco took a massive gallop of his drink to refrain from spitting the first thing that came into his head. Blaise  _always said_ comments like that, and until now, it had never upset Draco. But when it came to Astoria, all other rules and broken-rules went out the window, and he wanted more for her, them, and even himself.

He didn't wish to fight fire with more fire, and Draco— _wanting_ to be a better person—smirked to himself as he decided wit would be his forte.

"You know, you'd be less interested in  _my_  sex life, if you were having some of your own," Draco smirked. "You're so busy  _cooped_ up in my bloody house, hiding from the world and missing out on all the wonders sex can bring, that you've become obsessed with mine." He paused, letting it sink in before he administered the final blow. "I can't remember the last time you got between a girls—"

"Woah-woah- _Woah_ ," Theo said quickly, laughing as Blaise joined in. "Dangerous territory; I do not do girls bits."

Draco felt a pang of hurt, as though they weren't taking him seriously at all. Truthfully, he didn't expect them too, but he hoped they would all the same. "You think this is one fat joke then. That I would like her, don't you?"

His eyes watched them intently, his two friends sharing a look between them, as disappointment filled Draco's chest at their refusal.

"I do actually like her; like really like her. So, yes, I may be going over the top, and I may be breaking all your bloody rules by not telling you everything. But, I think I love this girl." The words were rolling from his lips, proudly being spoken—completely unafraid.

He didn't feel sweat on his palms or his heart racing—intact; it was the calmest he had felt in a while. Draco felt sure of himself— more sure of this than anything in his entire life.

"I haven't felt like this ever, I never even wanted to feel this way. But I do. And I am glad that I do; I am glad that I like her because she makes me a better person, and is that a good thing for all? Isn't that what everyone aspires to find, someone who makes them better, someone who makes them complete?"

Draco drained Blaise's glass once more, placing it down with a little more energy than he intended before scooping his coat from the back of his chair, shooting them a look.

"You told me to find something that made me happy; I have... _her_."

Turning on his heels, throwing his jacket over his shoulder, Draco found that he was smiling. Raising his hand to push open the door of the pub, the cold streets of London greeting him and while at one point he wouldn't have been sure where to go, he knew just the place this time.

* * *

Draco paused his hand mid-air over her door.

When he had stormed from the pub he had been so sure, but now he stood here, he wasn't sure whether to knock or to turn back and go home. Draco wanted to believe he could ignore the pull he had felt towards her; the same one that forced and needed him to come here—to her house.

He couldn't drive the thoughts away of her curled up on her sofa, fire flickering and a book in her hands. Even if the image was one he conjured himself, it didn't stop him from smiling.

Draco knew he had to do this. He had to press his knuckles to the wood, and tap a few times. And that he did. His skin grazed the wood, feeling the fresh paint—and he wondered why she had chosen to paint it this colour blue. It was pretty, of course, it just didn't seem

a colour he would associate with her. Her demeanour always spoke of darker shades, like her dark sense of humour, and her wardrobe being the opposite of what would be expected from Daphne Greengrass' sister.

Finding himself with limited time to ponder when the porch was suddenly filled with light from her hallway—illuminating him, and the potted plants at her doorstep he hadn't noticed. Draco felt like a Hippogriff cause in a Lumos—his hand hovering over the door where it met the frame, her stood before him, frowning at his presence.

If there was ever a moment where he wished the floor would swallow him up, this was it. He looked like a fool, arm outstretched—unable to retract it—as though frozen.

"Draco?"

His hand suddenly felt unfrozen; lowering his arm to his side immediately. Even though it was cold,

Draco could feel the sweat brewing on his brow, and he had flashbacks of their first date all over again.

"Greengrass. How are you?"

She shook her head. "Was you... _stroking_  my door?"

Draco shrugged. "I was getting it to like me," he said without a beat, his mind suddenly reprimanding him for speaking so quickly and so idiotically. Her eyes were looking at him as to be expected—confused and worried about how stable his mind was. "I literally, do not know why I said that."

Astoria slowly began to smile, and before he knew it, he was drowning in her laugh. Sweet and innocent; light and fluffy. It made him glow from the inside out; he felt his body relax as her eyes filled with joy.

"I hope I don't have that impact on you; I don't know if I like the idea of you losing your mind around me." She offered him a wink, and he relaxed further. "I thought you were out with Nott and Blaise tonight?"

Draco knew he could explain that while he loves his friends, it wasn't his friends he wanted to be with—especially when they didn't understand when they couldn't understand. Draco knew he could pour out and tell her everything they had said, but, he didn't want to be that man anymore. He didn't want to make his problems become someone else's, mainly when the person listening was kind and unselfish like Astoria was.

He wasn't sure if it was better, but he lied, and while it was at least unselfishly this time, he wasn't sure if that changed anything regarding the rules, because it was still a lie, no matter how you looked at it. Draco usually lied about things to make things easier for him, so he had never given this much thought to it, but tonight, he lied to save an evening talking about himself for her sake, not his own—so he hoped that made it okay, if there was even a set of rules in regards to lying.

"I guess, when I really thought about it, I just preferred your offer," Draco smiled. "If, it is still on the table?"

Astoria licked her lips. "I think you just love my company."

He watched her rest against her doorway, her dressing gown wrapped around her frame. He couldn't lie, not about that—so he didn't admit or deny anything. "You happen to love mine just as much  _Greengrass_ , I can tell."

She shook her head, grinning. "I think  _someone_  is a little  _over_ -confident. I love no one  _nor_  would I ever, least of all a  _Malfoy_."

Draco watched as a dangerous smile grew over her lips, and in the spirit of honesty, it made him a little weak at the knees. Every time he was around her he was intoxicated by her—something more than her looks or what was underneath her clothes, something Draco had never experienced. He liked her wit, her logic; her laugh, her smile.

Shuffling his weight to his other leg, not allowing the chill to bother him. "Trust me; if you aren't already, you will fall in love with me in a  _heartbeat_."

Astoria snorted, her eyes meeting his as he felt a tug in his chest. She sent him a look that almost healed the darker parts within him, and somehow helping the lighter parts glow brighter—something he had been unable to do on his own. She saw good in him—and he had no idea why, but he didn't want to question it; rather enjoying being someone to her, than no one.

"I wouldn't make any bets on that," Astoria taunted, moving her hair from her shoulder as he let out a chuckle. "What? I,  _am made of stone_ , have you not heard?"

"You are about as made of  _stone_  as I have brown hair," he smirked, his finger trailing her doorway that he was almost stood in now. He had been closing the gap between them for a while, but now they were so close—they could see each other's eyes up close, fighting where to look. "I am going to come in... okay? I am not being polite anymore."

Her lips parted, her chest rising as if all words had evaded her before she slowly nodded. Draco moved towards her, snaking his hand up into her hair as his lips found hers, nibbling on the bottom of her mouth as his foot met the base of her front door, kicking it closed as she laughed sweetly.

* * *

Draco found that he didn't want to leave her house the next day, and when she offered, he gladly accepted her company again. He sent a carefully worded owl to Granger—having never taken a day off in his life, never mind a personal day—he was surprised to find no owl interrupted his time with Astoria.

On the following day—except to go to work—he remained in her company. She had invited him, of course—he wasn't Blaise. When he had walked through her front door, after the easiest shift he had ever endured, he was surprised to find dinner and wine on the table waiting for him, and if he hadn't of already been in love with her, he was sure that would be the moment.

They ate in mixed conversation and silence. The silence wasn't all that bad, Muggle music playing in the background, and Draco couldn't help but tap his foot along with it. When Etta James', At Last, came on, the two of them met one another's eyes, both unsure whether to take the dive and say what they felt—Draco especially. The weight of his feelings was crushing him—he had never felt so much, in such a short amount of time—and he wanted to blurt them out, relieving him of the strain of carrying them in silence. When the song changed, the feeling didn't go away—but her eyes glittered with something mischievous, and he knew the moment had somewhat been lost.

"Surprised you know any of these,  _Malfoy_ ," Astoria teased, emphasising his surname.

Draco put down his fork, listening to her giggle. "Wait just one second, Miss Greengrass. You don't think I'm accepting of Muggle culture, do you? Least of all, the Greats—musically. Like Bowie, yeah I know him; Queen, The Beatles, and that isn't even moving to Motown, one of my mother's favourites..." He trailed off, watching her lean back into her chair, crossing her leg over the other with a smirk. "Oh, Greengrass, how  _badly_  you are mistaken."

Her wrist rotated as he watched her formulate her words, her watch catching the flickers of the candlelight. Her rosy red lips wrapped around the wine glass as she left a perfect stain of her lipstick upon it.

"I think you are better than you once were, but you cannot possibly know more than me," Astoria said teasingly as she sipped from her glass once more.

Draco placed his napkin, from his lap, onto the table. "I just think you don't wish to see the good in me, Astoria," he taunted, taking a sip of his own wine as she watched him.

Raising her glass towards him with an evil smile. "Maybe I think the bad is rather fetching on you."

He couldn't deny her the smirk she deserved. She was one with words when she wanted to be, and Astoria had taken the crown then. If Draco had been stood, he would have fallen; slain by her flirtatious, innuendo. It had been a month, and Draco couldn't remember a time without her in his life—and he never wanted too.

"Stand up," Draco smirked, having had an idea. He placed his glass down, before reaching to take hers and place it down beside his. Astoria's eyes widened, but she made no motion to move from her chair, his hand stretching out as she took it. "I said,  _stand_  up."

Slowly pulling her to her feet, he glided the two of them across the dining room, his hand waving over the cupboard of the bookcase as the wooden panel disappeared showing all the records she had collected—he had spotted it the night previously. Draco caught her eyes glittering with surprise at the use of his  _wandless and wordless_  magic—fuck he loved magic. He felt her move nearer, her body almost flush with his side. He met her dead in the eye, begging her to challenge him, and with one finger he slid the disc from its holder.

Draco turned as swiftly as ever, taking two steps to close the gap between them as the familiar beat thudded from the music system. Trapping her hand in his as his other moved to her hip, bridging the gap between them.

"The Temptations,  _seriously_?" Astoria smirked, raising one eyebrow. "This is who you've decided to—"

Turning her in his arms as he held her back to him, hands on her hips as he pressed his head into the cross of her neck, pressing a kiss to her neck. She stopped talking, and Draco suddenly lost himself in her—forgetting who he was, who he had been—and he sang.

" _I've got_ sunshine _, on a cloudy day_ ," he sang softly in her ear. Draco turned her to face him once more, a look of bewilderment at his outburst written over her face, " _when it's cold outside, I've got the month of May..."_

Her smile brightened the room as he closed his eyes, mouthing the next few lines mainly from embarrassment as they rocked together, whispers of her sweet laugh making his cheeks burn deeper than before.

"What can make me feel this way,  _my girl,_ " Draco sang.

" _My girl,_ " Astoria chirped in, rather sweetly. Opening his eyes, dousing her with silver as her glittering orbs shined up at him.

The two rocked together, Draco occasionally twirling her around as her laugh sounded louder with each turn, both of them letting go of all sense and restriction, allowing themselves to be free and themselves. Her dress billowed out around their legs as he kept his eyes on her the entire time. He wanted to remember each line of her smile, each curve of her cheek as she laughed and the way her skin radiated compared to the pale green dress that looked to be made of silk. Draco wanted to lift her into his arms and never let her go, the happiness that poured out from his pores was one he was never willing to part with.

She  _was_  it.

That person that happily married men talked about when they look at their wives, the person that men describe in bars when they are down on their luck and want happiness. She was the person to him. The beginning, the end and the middle.

 _His love_. His heart and soul embodied in a beautiful frame that he couldn't help but smile for.

Draco's lips parted, her finger sliding over them as Astoria smiled. "I was wrong," he mumbled, his eyebrows descended into a frown, " _but_...that really isn't the best Motown song, I should have picked another."

"Um, excuse me?" Astoria laughed in disbelief. He said holding her at arm's length with a smile, her laugh echoing around the room as he pressed a kiss to her temple.

Draco pulled away from her, returning back to the shelving. "I am impressed, although, this collection is not nearly enough or comprehensive enough to rival mine." He scanned for the title, finding it almost immediately.

"Blow me away then, Malfoy," she taunted.

"Oh Astoria, you know I will."

Draco slipped the record from its casing, removing the other with care—knowing how much all of this was worth. He heard her breath more profound, the air around them chilling—but he thought nothing of it.

"Tori," Astoria suddenly said, as he looked over his shoulder. "Call me, Tori."

Draco smiled even wider. "Okay then,  _Tori_."

His head turned back to look at the machine, feeling his cheeks blush once more, unsure if he would ever get used to the sensation of being in her company as the next song came on. Draco turned on the spot, clapping in time to the music as she laughed even louder—even brighter. She confirmed she was made for him, when her feet began two-stepping as she made her way over to him, the gap between them close to nothing.

 _I love you_ ; he thought as he grabbed hold of her as she began to sing the words with him.

_"When the night has come, and the land is dark, and the moon is the only light we'll see."_

Draco placed a finger under her jaw as he smiled, tilting her head up to face him as she smiled sweetly, already for his lips to meet hers. It was only then that his eyes caught it, slowly descending like a storm over a perfect day. Draco's breath caught in his throat, her eyes widening in panic as the song lyrics trailed off from her lips. He felt her go weak, almost falling; his hands gripping her side, watching as a slither of blood came down from her nose, covering her porcelain skin.

Astoria's hand raised up, and for a second his whole body froze—his heart didn't beat, his lungs didn't breathe. Her fingers touched it, her eyes staring at it against her fingers as she took a deep breath and her face paled, as though someone had clicked her fingers.

And then she was gone, limp in his arms—her heart  _thumping_  violently against her chest.

* * *

**oOo**


	10. Eros

**Eros**

* * *

Hospitals had always given Draco the creeps since he was a child and he visited one when his Grandfather passed. It was further fuelled when he began attending for 'appointments' to discuss his 'mental stability' after the war. They would remove his wand, his last hold of power and strength, and gift him with an invisible cloak of uncomfortableness that he wore around the hospital until he left.

Draco had never thought about death too much before the war, except when his Grandfather had passed away. He thought about it continuously when the war began, and it didn't fade when the war came to an end. Draco suspected it was the reason he was referred to see Healer Jones—because the referral definitely didn't come from him.

It felt very different when Astoria was taken to St. Mungos. Draco didn't have a second to consider being uncomfortable, not when every single fibre of him was flooded with concern. He didn't have a chance to feel scared when he plunged into her fireplace, and emerged out the other side, stood in the marble reception area with Astoria in his arms. Everything happened so quick, Healers dove from nowhere, stealing her from his arms before he even had a chance to explain what had happened.

It hit him like a hex that this wasn't a one-off occurrence for her, this was something regular that she experienced periodically.

Draco hadn't been allowed to follow the Healers—left to pace the marble floor, alone, worried. He didn't know what to do, never having been in a situation like this.  _Was he required to Floo-Call her parents? Would the Healers do it? Would Astoria even want him to?_  Each questioned swirled around his mind, and Draco sunk into the nearest chair, sticking his head into his hands—he had never asked her any of this, he had brushed the topic under the carpet having told himself it was too early to talk about.

How wrong he was.

An hour ticked by, and Draco was back on his feet. Sitting had done nothing for his impatience, and the receptionist hadn't been as helpful as he liked. He strode to the fireplace, getting inline for the Floo-Call, thankfully not having to wait long before he was at the front of the queue. He didn't hesitate, thrusting his head into the fireplace and catching sight of Blaise on the other side. Draco tried to not focus on the state of his house, purely focusing on communicating what he needed to tell his friend—to get in touch with Daphne, tell her I'm at St. Mungo's, then tell Granger or Potter or someone who can sign some paperwork and get me some time off.

"Malfoy?" Blaise said, throwing the magazine in the corner of the room.

Draco shook his head, hoping it conveyed the same message as a floating head. "Astoria is in St. Mungo's, and before you interrupt and ask if she is okay, I don't think so, so I need—"

"—I'll call Daphne, and you want me to call Potter or Granger, I think Granger might be easier—Potter hasn't quite forgiven me for getting drunk at the last Ministry event, do you…" Blaise trailed off when he caught Draco's stare, although, in truth, he was more surprised at how quick-thinking Blaise was currently being. "You want me to bring some clothes?"

Draco tried to think, unsure what exactly he did want. "Um…"

Blaise nodded, standing from the dining room chair. "I'll call Parkinson; she's good with that stuff."

"Tha-thank you, mate," Draco mumbled, sincerely, and far too emotionally for the two of them when sober. "I might be here for—"

"—I'll refrain from burning your house down," Blaise smirked, and Draco nodded. "Go, I'll sort everything, I promise."

Draco felt someone nudge him. "I have, rude people, you know—"

"Go," Blaise smiled, softening his gaze and Draco took a deep breath, the walls usually around him tumbling down. "She'll be alright; I believe that."

Not wanting to fall apart, Draco yanked his head back out of the fireplace, leaving the safety of his home—even through Floo—and Blaise's words. He hoped he had conveyed himself enough, even if Blaise had been the one that had spoken the most, but Draco buried his natural need to be precise with his concern with Astoria, and only Astoria. He turned to see the very person who nudged him, finding a green-coated Healer with a pale look on his face, and Draco swallowed back whatever sarcastic remark he had wanted to say, burying it immediately.

She didn't look well when he entered the room, although Draco wasn't sure what he had expected. He sat beside her, not registering that no one else was here yet, and it was just the two of them. Not that he had contemplated doing anything else, he knew he had to stay. Draco had already told himself that much when he had carried her through her fireplace. There was nothing that was going to force him to leave her side—he was in this, entirely, and with everything he had. Draco didn't care if he received an owl that the Ministry was on fire, Astoria was more important—sShe was it, the be all and end all.

It took her awhile to wake, and each second Draco thought of things that were far too in the future to be thought—but he never silenced them, not once.

In typical Astoria fashion, her first words were an insult before she quickly moved onto scolding him for being here—she was ill, not dead, and surely he had more important things to be doing. Draco didn't want to admit how important she truly was, too terrified of scaring her away. Each time he moved beside her, she glared, but the lingering looks she sent him convinced Draco that deep down, Astoria really did want him to stay. Much to his amusement, she later confirmed all of this when she was given higher pain potions, and babbled about all sorts of things including her fascination over the colour of his hair. He made a mental note to tease her about her likening his hair to the sun, stars and moon, but for the time being he held her hand in his, kissing her skin as if it would provide some sort of comfort.

Draco had never been one to be thankful when parents arrived, but he was when the Greengrasses arrived—without Daphne, thankfully, he was still a little disgruntled by her behaviour. He felt concerned by her parent's lack of concern, both the picture of calmness as their daughter lay in a bed she looked way too small for, looking paler than the white pillowcase supporting her head.

"I'm not sure why we were called," Mr Greengrass said, turning to chastise Draco with his eyes. "It doesn't seem much worse than last time."

He parted his lips to argue that it was very much a big deal, and that Draco would be able to help remove Mr Greengrass' head from his arse if he so required assistance, but when he saw Astoria's head dip, he refrained.

The two of them didn't talk about it when her parents eventually left, and when Draco had found the confidence to talk about it with her, Pansy arrived with a change of clothes. Like the whirlwind that Parkinson was, she burst into the room, taking one look at him before insisting that if he was going to be like Potter—and stay here and be the hero—Draco would at least attempt to dress decently. Draco wasn't given much chance to argue, practically pushed out of the room by her sharp nails.

Hospital bathrooms were not Draco's favourite place. They always smelt worse than the corridors, and you regularly found men sobbing unctrollably—as though the bathroom was the only place they could fall apart. He had never got changed quicker, and not wishing to comfort the man falling apart at the sinks, he burst out of the bathroom before checking his appearance. A very un-Malfoy thing to do—and something he would never admit.

When he returned, Pansy stood and kissed his cheek, insisting both of them Floo-Call if they needed anything—except whisky, because this was a hospital—and then she left, leaving the two of them together.

Draco had never slept in a hospital, but when he awoke in an uncomfortable position in the armchair, scrunched up shirt and sleep crusting in his eyes, he realised he had ticked something off his bucket list. He later informed Astoria of this when she had awoken, her face regaining colour—looking a little more alive than she had 24 hours previously.

"Would you like anything to drink, or eat, or—" Astoria groaned under her breath. "You cannot stop me from caring for you, Astoria."

She tilted her head on the pillow, her hair having curled into tighter curls. "Fine, tea. With milk, not cream."

He nodded, standing up as he tried to smooth the creases out of his trousers—although it was more out of habit than care for his appearance. Draco turned into pilot-mode as he walked to the cafe and back, his mind drifting to I love you's and their future with such ease, it scared him. She had changed him, more than he was prepared to admit—but she had, and he was thankful. He was grateful, but scared—Draco didn't want to mess up.

Her room was still empty when he returned, placing her tea down on the table hovering over her lap, and he settled back into the chair directly beside her. Draco had barely got comfortable before he met her stare, piercing and unmoving.

"You have a crazed look in your eye," Astoria said softly.

His hand moved to grasp hers, massaging it with his thumb as she closed her eyes with a smile. Astoria's eyes had regained their twinkle, and her lips looked pinker than they had done previously. Draco, bizarrely, wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked with her hair spread around the crisp, white pillow in the shape of a halo, but he refrained from fear of a tongue lashing—and that it sounded utterly barbaric for him to say such.

Leaning forward, continuing to play with her fingers as he brought his tea to his lips. "Do I?" He asked, faking innocence.

"It's more crazed than normal. Are you going to murder me in my sleep Malfoy? Is that what this is?" Even in this adversity, she still smiled as sweetly as ever. "I will fight you; you know that right? I may appear weak, but I can bite."

Draco scoffed, a wheezing sound coming from her own lips, coughing and spluttering. He rolled his lips biting down on them to avoid tears at seeing her this way; she seemed so weak when in reality she was possibly the strongest person he knew. The only woman that had no qualms with reminding him of his place, even in a hospital bed.

"Don't  _look_  at me like that."

"Tori, I honestly do not know that I am doing a ' _crazed look_ ', so I most definitely am unable to stop it," Draco said defiantly, making sure not to sound cross although he was becoming irked by her mention of it.

"No. Not  _that_  one," her eyes opening again more noticeably. "The pity one across your face, right... now. Look at yourself, p-i-t-y. I am fine, Draco. I assure you, it's just a  _little_  cold—"

"A  _little_  cold gives people bed rest, not puts them in the hospital," Draco quickly reminded her.

Astoria sunk into the pillow, partially pouting. "Yes well, I have style," a wicked glint passing over her face before it was stolen by a contorted expression and a spluttering cough. "I had been a little tired, but—"

"You should have said something, rather than...well allowing me to twirl you around like one of those bloody Muggle rides—"

"And miss out on your wondrous dance moves," Astoria teased as her hand tightened around his. "I could  _never_."

He shook his head as he composed himself, attempting to ignore the thousand and one thoughts that stabbed at his mind. Draco blamed the lack of sleep for the reason why his mind wasn't able to harness them back; his fingers continue to stroke at hers as he made memories of the way they felt, each individual marking on them and the way her bones curved.

"Draco?"

"Hmm..." Draco responded, trying to control the way his skin was sweating and his heart was racing.

"What is it? What is bothering you so much that you are making prints of my hands in yours? Don't think I don't know what you are doing and yes, my hand does fit well in yours, but that is no need for you to be measuring it."

His smile was evident before she had finished as he pressed her cold fingers to his warm lips. "I think..."

"Oh Merlin,  _here_  we go," she teased. "He thinks now."

Draco snorted as she turned her head more to look at him, her hair tumbling down her shoulders against the pillow. He wondered if she knew how beautiful she was, even now, ill and free of all her usual amenities. She could be dressed in a sack and still be the most beautiful woman he had seen; he just wished he had noticed that before he did. Gave himself more time with her, instead of bullying he wished he had grown up and seen beauty for more than looks. He realised far too late that looks made only half of the attraction, that it was her soul and her smile that made her who she was, which was his everything.

His beautifully,  _stunning everything._

Which was why he didn't want to waste any more time, that he ignored all he knew of courting and relationships and the advice that had been passed to him, without him even asking for it.

Parting his lips as he stared into her eyes. "I think you should marry me."

Draco felt the room's atmosphere change as suddenly as the words left his lips. The air all around them was quickly becoming more burdensome, the sounds of distant footsteps in a far corridor seemed much louder and more prominent in the silence. No one said a thing for several minutes. The small sigh that escaped her lips sounded much louder in comparison to normal, and he was sure he could even feel and hear her worries from over the bed.

"No," Astoria whispered suddenly.

"No? What do you mean no?" He said much louder.

"I mean like...No! As in  _no_ , I won't marry you," Astoria rolling her eyes as if he wasn't getting her. "As in  _no_ , I will not shackle myself to you. With also a  _no_ , so that you can't pity me for the rest of my days," her tone harsh, even if it had been quiet. "My answer is a large, unchangeable, no!"

"That isn't what this is—"

She shuffled beside him, sitting up defiantly as though she wouldn't fall apart. "Tell me this isn't because I am ill," her head turned fully to face him as her hair fanned around her. "You deserve someone who isn't about to  _combust_  on you, and leave you  _hopelessly_  devastated. I think too highly of you to do that to you. I care, too much about you to allow you to throw a perfectly happy life away just for me."

Draco tightened his grip around her hand, placing the tea on the table.

Astoria sighed, her voice lowering to a softer volume. "I want so much more for you than this. This isn't a life for you; this isn't even the worse. It's all downhill from here—"

"—I don't care—" He tried to protest, tears building in his eyes from both frustration and rejection.

"—But I do. I  _get_  a choice, I do. I get  _one_  choice in my life and that, that is to say, no."

Draco clutched onto her hand more, not allowing her to let go even if her head had turned away from him. Even if he currently pretended that he could not see the tear rolling down her cheek and even if he ignored the pain in his chest at wanting to say all that he had bottled up.

Sighing, taking a large gulp of air as if it would empower him, realising that the only thing that could do that was currently in the palm of his hand, holding her a little tighter.

"Maybe I  _want_  this. Maybe being without you leaves me hopeless already. I was more worried that I'd never be yours truly than actually telling you how I feel. But now, I'd rather you know how I feel before you leave me to go ruin the lives in the Underworld."

Astoria shook her head, her voice cracking. "This doesn't work. We will not work! I'm damaged—"

"—Well join the bloody group," Draco said, a tear falling down his cheek as his hand released hers. He didn't care when she turned to face him, her eyes watering but he stuck his hand out in front of her, similar to how he had done so in the bar. Her hand moved, motioning to wipe the tear for him, but he moved his head back, gritting his jaw.

Astoria sighed. "And what would we do, move in together? You'd be there every waking moment of the day?"

"What is so wrong with that?"

"You have a life," she hissed, her eyes shimmering as her hands shook. "And your house, you have a freaking house—"

"I'll give it to Blaise; he's there much more than me. He can live there, heal, and get over your sister. I bought that house to figure out who I want to be, who I wanted to become. Astoria...Tori, I realised who I want to be," Draco said full of determination.

Forcing away his fears, doubts and rejection, Draco straightened his back. He took one last look in her eyes, seeing behind the tears and walls that she wanted him, just as much as Draco wanted her. And that was enough—it was proof that he could continue to try, that this wasn't a lost cause.

Draco sighed as he let confidence fill him, and he stuck his hand out more defiantly in front of her. "I'm Draco  _fucking_  Malfoy, and I was a worthless piece of shit before you crapped all over my world and made me want to be better. I was sad,  _depressed_  even. My best friend was a bottle of whisky and for the longest time that was enough for me. You made me care about something that wasn't myself; you cared for me when barely anyone else would. Tori, marry me and let me make your numbered days half more bearable with my arsehole like behaviour and my selfish tendencies... because, I am fucking hopelessly, dependably, infatuated-ly in love with you. I think I have been since the moment you took my balls and put them in your purse."

"You're crazy," Astoria muttered, wiping her cheeks.

"Only with you, baby. Only  _ever_ , with you," Draco said almost pleading, taking her hand in his as he stood, lowering one knee to the ground as she laughed. "Just  _fucking_  marry me and make me somewhat normally happy by social standards."

"Do I have to wear white? Because white washes me out, you know?"

Draco grinned, a completely unnatural one for him. "You can wear the bloody hospital gown if it means you'll stand with me, Tori. I don't care if you want two people or two thousand, as long as you stand there, and tell me you love me."

Astoria seemed to consider this for a moment, "I guess. It isn't as though I have any better offers, but declaring my love for you...that  _may_  be pushing it a little too far."

"As always, you make me feel extremely lucky," Draco smirked, teasing her as he kissed her hand again. "Marry me, Tori. Make me, a conventional Muggle card; make me  _sickly_  happy beyond belief."

Her laugh at that moment was more beautiful than the thousands of others he had heard, her tears trickling differently now than they had before, as she began to nod furiously. "Fine,  _yes_. Yes, I will marry you, you ridiculous arse of a man. Even if it has been what, one month of dating, one month of bitter comments and an entire lifetime of hating your existence. I will marry you, and I will make your life hell."

The bubble of happiness she had slowly been building inside of him exploded, forcing him to rise up to his feet as he leaned over and clutched her cheeks. Draco felt her hands meeting his neck as he crushed his lips against hers ignoring the salt like taste from her tears. His fingers weaving into her hair as he traced her lips with his, a kiss to end all kisses, a kiss to blow a thousand away. A kiss of love. His body was lowering slightly against hers, not caring in the slightest that anyone could walk in and see them in the throes of a kiss that books would be jealous of. He didn't care because she said yes.

And it was the  _greatest_  yes, of all.

* * *

**oOo**


	11. Hera

**Hera**

* * *

The  _first_  week of Astoria being out of the hospital wasn't exactly how Draco had imagined. She had been unbearable, especially when he forced her to remain on bedrest. He moved half of his things single-handedly into hers, choosing his moments when Blaise wasn't around, not quite ready for the conversation that Draco was moving onto greener pastures—and that he was engaged.

Draco found the  _second_  week wasn't much better, even if the Healer had given the all clear to resume her normal activities. It wasn't that she argued with him for the sake of it, but Draco saw little point in the many things she moaned at him for. Astoria didn't like that he owned so much black, she hated that he wasn't talkative in the mornings, and at one point she even complained that he didn't eat soup right.

Not once did he question the question he had asked at the hospital—he had not a single doubt because even if Astoria was acting like she had a few screws loose, he still felt nothing but love for her.

On the third week, however, it didn't matter how much he loved her. Draco couldn't love her enough to correct the disaster that was a meal with his mother—and a grilling for Astoria. For a while, Draco had been stunned into silence as he watched the woman he loved, and the woman that had raised him, snarling and speaking only in pure sarcasm. It was painful, and Draco had half-wished his father had attended the meal just to break up the tension.

When Astoria turned on Draco, asking him—the moment his mother had excused herself from their company—why he hadn't said anything, a fight had birthed and erupted before Draco's very eyes.

"Will you just  _fucking_  hold up?" Draco called as Astoria tried to slam her front door on him, only for him to catch it. "Will you just—" the glare she shot him made him choke, and while he knew her hands were wrapped around the bannisters either side of her, he still questioned whether they were around his neck. "Tori? For the love—"

Astoria spun around. "Fuck off, Malfoy! Go,  _home_!" Her feet were hammering up the staircase away from him.

Closing her door behind him, listening to her bare feet hammering against the floorboards above him, Draco proceeded to rub his temple in annoyance. He lowered the pair of heels she had thrown at him earlier, placing them down on the floor carefully as he let out an exasperated sigh. He remembered her irate nature with the lack of care he had shown her previous pair of shoes and didn't wish for that particular argument again—he hoped for no more arguments if he had a choice, but even he knew that he couldn't be so lucky.

He desperately wished he had the confidence to reply that this was his home now too; that his clothes were here and she had given him a key—it was just the rest of his possessions hadn't found their way here yet. Draco knew he couldn't win when he went up against Astoria—she was ruthless, intelligent, and while it was wrapped inside a petite brunette, she wasn't to be reckoned with.

" _Tori_!" He shouted as he climbed the staircase after her.

He heard the stomp of her annoyed feet on the upstairs landing, signalling her head would be thrown over the bannister any second. "I said—"  _Right on queue,_  Draco smirked to himself.

"I know, I know. You said  _fuck off."_ Following her as she moved into her bedroom—their bedroom—as she moved into the conjoined bathroom. "But, in my defence, I didn't exactly know that my mother would—"

Astoria's head thrust from behind the bathroom door, a broad line above her brows showing her inner fury, her eyes remained fixed on him venomously as if she was hoping to suck his soul from his body. He paused in his climb, standing two steps from the top, looking at her through the safety of the bannister that he was resting his head between as he watched her face turn redder and redder.

"Do I look interested? Because I am not. I'm,  _not_ , interested!" She spat before summoning her moisturiser from the side—knowing how much he enjoyed watching her glide it on her skin. Draco stuck his tongue against the front of his teeth, leaning against the doorframe.

His eyes were watching her apply it to her knees, seeing her bend over—knowing precisely what she was fucking doing. "Oh for  _fuck_  sake, Astoria! What  _exactly_  is your problem?!"

Something cracked. Draco didn't know what it was, and in a split-second, his chest hurt, and he found the bathroom door slammed into his face. He heard no noise on the other side—the whole house, in fact, had silenced to the point that made him fearful.

He braced, expecting the storm, and when it came, oh did it try to suffocate him. Astoria forcefully opened the bathroom door, emerging in a nightie covering barely any of her body—but he decided to not fixate on that; more focused on the lines appearing over her brow, showing exactly how angry she indeed was.

"You, are  _settling_!" Astoria pointed. "You had choices—good, bloody choices and I will not be the one you  _'settle'_  for! I will not be—"

Draco placed his fingers on the bridge of his nose, his patience failing. "I,  _am not,_  settling, for the  _billionth_  time."

His annoyance at his mother's loose tongue grew with each word out of his fiancés' mouth. Tonight was supposed to be about celebrating. It was meant to make Narcissa proud that Draco had finally chosen to marry—and someone Pureblood at that, not that it even mattered to Draco.

Instead, his mother tested Astoria. She pushed and pushed, hoping to break Astoria—thus providing she couldn't possibly handle Draco. But she could—Draco knew Astoria could, and he suspected his mother did too. To Narcissa, it was her duty; to Astoria, she made Draco happy, and that should have been it.

To Draco, he knew that all his family had ever known were tests and passing. Their entire lives were based on them making the right choices and being tested by someone with a higher power—even including the war. It made little sense to anyone not from that world and truthfully, Astoria wasn't—not like he was. Astoria's childhood had been tainted with darkness but nothing quite like his, her parents had remained neutral in the splitting of the wizarding world. At first, he had envied her and envied the childhood that she had. But now, he knew that he had become this person because of his upbringing, no matter how terrible that might have been.

"Draco,  _don't_ do this. Do not stand there and lie to me about all of this."

"What?" He said moving his hand to rub his forehead in anger.

Astoria sighed, crossing her arms under her breasts—another sight Draco tried to ignore. "Continue to think of yourself less than you are. You are worth more than the mark on your arm."

"The mark, that is  _who_  I am," Draco said, watching her walk past him as she rounded to her side of the bed. "And I am okay with that."

Astoria tutted under her breath, pulling the inordinate amount of cushions of the bed. "The mark is who an idiot  _is,_  and  _was_.  _You_ , are far from being an idiot. You are an intelligent, beautiful, and brilliant man. You don't have slim pickings, you have all the pickings, and I want what is best for you."

"This is why I want you," Draco hissed as she shook her head, and he wished more than anything for the heavens to give him a hand. "You, all of you. You...see  _me_  in this, you see me in this way I didn't think was possible. You see me as a person, as someone."

Her nails clawed at her hair, the grips that had pinned up her locks, removing them one by one. Her hair began falling around her shoulders as she reached for a hair tie on the bedside table. She was a creature of habit, and Draco adored that about her—like so many things. "I won't be your  _get-out_  clause just to infuriate your family, even if it would be funny to witness."

Draco stepped back, hesitating at moving closer to her as something inside of him hurt. Their eyes met over her bed—their bed—and the air changed around them. "Is that what you think? Do you think that is why I wish to marry you? To prove a point?"

Her shoulders shrugged, and the pain spread further through his body. Astoria was insecure—he could see it, but she couldn't see that he felt the same. "You can have anyone, why do you want someone with the death sentence?" Astoria mumbled. "You are only telling yourself you can't be happy, that you don't deserve that life, so you're doing your bit, marrying the soon-to-be-dead girl—"

"That is not what this is—"

"You need to —"

"— No!" Draco finally said firmly. "Astoria I  _want_  you. For the first time in my life I am choosing, and I choose you. I want you, I want us, I want whatever life has in store for us. Even if it's a moment, a single,  _beautiful_  moment."

Astoria dropped her hands to her side. "Draco..."

He shook his head, needing her to be silent. "I felt like I was drowning before I saw you in that pub, drowning in a non-existent liquid. I was suffering, and I was blaming myself, and while I still don't see the man that you do, I see that I can be  _someone_  with you. You saved me; I felt like I was coming up for air for the first time—"

"Draco," Astoria tried again.

"I want,  _you_ ," he said stepping closer to her, his fingers moving under her chin causing her to meet his eyes. Draco placed his other hand on hers, feeling the finger that didn't have a ring yet upon it. The ringless finger that his mother had nearly choked on her wine over, mutterings of  _improper_  and  _wrong_. "I want the girl who told my mother she doesn't want an heirloom. I want the girl who sat in a hospital bed and said no, even if she wanted to scream yes. I want the girl who I never thought I'd want but now, I need. I want the woman who is so beautiful she outshines an entire room of witches. I want the woman who tells a cold to fuck off, I want the woman who shouts at a waiter for his judgement, and I want the woman who wants the best for me."

"That sounds like a lot of women," Astoria teased.

"Just one," Draco whispered as he moved his lips to hers, the sense that hers began to part as he smiled. " _You_."

He felt her melt in his arms, dipping his head to kiss her—her lips unresponsive for a second before he felt her press back and he smirked. Draco laced a finger up her neck, moving it up to her cheek as he brushed a few fingers into her hair.

"My mother  _adores_  you," Draco whispered, her scoff was loud and not needed, but he smiled all the same. "She does, her comments were—"

"Rude? Unneeded?"

"Protective," Draco assured her. "From her stance, I put my foot down on marriage and giving them a grandchild and...I changed my mind because of the person I have in my arms. I am not, settling. I am  _choosing_. There is a difference."

He watched as she crossed her arms, creating a barrier against his hands moving anymore against her than her cheeks, "I didn't appreciate the comment about my small breasts and unwomanly hips from her either."

"You, my love. Are  _all_  woman."

Her eyes rolling. "You was lucky that I had some decorum. I was about to bring up that I was just as disappointed by your manly qualities."

Draco snorted. "Except we would all know that would be a lie."

He felt her slap him before pulling him down to her level, pressing her lips to his rather aggressively and he was pleased he was able to hide his surprise at the sudden turn of mood. Draco pushed her back towards the bedpost, her laugh vibrating through their lips down his throat as she collided with it forcefully.

"You sure I, am the one you want?" She purred. "Because I happen to love you. Not something I admit lightly."

Feeling her fingers slide up his tie, she wrapped it around her fingers and pulled on it bringing him flush against her before she captured his lips once more. Using his hands to grasp at her slim thighs, grabbing on to them tightly as he yanked her up from the floor, pressing her back into the wooden post as her legs wrapped around him with ease. His steel, lustful eyes meeting her intoxicating ones.

"Most, fucking definitely," he rasped before his mouth attacked hers, a moan spluttering from her as her hand clutched his back for support. "I want you, all of you, and I want you in those sheets."

Astoria smirked, pursing her lips together. "Have me then, Malfoy."

* * *

Draco had seated himself in the chair behind his desk, a throbbing headache coming on that he knew was caused by the annoying witch he happened to work with. Hermione had met him from the fireplace, he had wanted to ask how she even knew which one he would be arriving through but he had no time, she had already started on her usual busy rant about working schedules and him not being allowed extended lunch breaks. Not that he had planned on taking any.

Then, like the dark-haired whirlwind she was, a further headache emerged from a place in his mind he had never known. Staring into the eye of his best friend as she glared at him menacingly, draped in dress robes that outshone the entire Ministry and he pondered whether she did it on purpose or this was her usual attire now that she had tired of wallowing in her home.

"Parkinson?"

"Do you know, what that rat-bastard has asked me?"

Draco sighed as he shook his head, for two reasons. One, because he wasn't sure which man she was talking about, the opposite sex had infuriated her beyond reckoning this time and he was usually always wrong in his guesses. Second, because he knew that even offering her the incorrect drink at the incorrect time could cause her to spiral out of control, to say she was hormonal was an understatement.

"He offered me his tool, for the itch, that is apparently making me into a bitch?" She hissed as she slammed the heels of her shoes into his desk. "Sex does not fix everything. And, I am no more of a bitch than normal. I actually thought I was being kinder."

"I remember you fondly telling me that sex does fix everything?" He retorted with a sly smile. "You know when you were informing me that I needed to go, smash some headboards or get bitten, something like that."

Pansy's eyes burning a hole in him as he held his hands up in surrender, his point had at least hit home, that was all he had wanted.

"I am now just... an exercise for him to limber up before he gets the real girl he wants," her voice colder than normal, surprised to find no ice emerging from it. "I, am a person. I have feelings." Draco raised his brows before smirking, "look at me like that, and I will hex your testicles into my apothecary table, and Astoria will see no use for you."

He sniggered as he rotated his quill in his fingers. "So who is the disgusting creature who would  _dare_  proposition the mighty, Parkinson?"

"Zabini," her arms crossed and he sighed a little in relief. "He even said it as if I should be pleased he was there to offer his...services. It was a mistake, a huge, disgusting mistake—I don't want him, Malfoy. You know this, right?"

Draco found himself somewhat relieved, with it being Blaise it meant that he didn't have to take on a crazed witch he worked with and the sacred one who only needed a reason to stick his wand where it wasn't needed. Draco most definitely did not need to get into a disagreement between a woman who frightened him and a man he had come to respect, reluctantly; Draco also didn't need his colleague to be pissed at him because he picked a fight with her best friend.

The situation screamed for him to run away, but when it came to Pansy, Draco knew he never could. She needed him, and Draco knew that with every beat of his heart.

"You, need to rein him in," Pansy hissed.

"Me? What about you stop drinking at my place and flirting with him?" Draco retorted rather astonished. "I have been around you both since we were eleven, there is nothing that can stop you two. You are...a pair of horny little bleeders."

" _Bleeders_?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Granger has me working on my language in the office," lowering his voice as he leaned over the desk. "I fear she may have hexed the room." His finger rising to his fingers as Pansy began to chuckle. "I am glad you see the humour."

Pansy shrugged. "I don't mind, Granger."

"I am surprised."

"I want to get him back, Potter—goodness knows why—"

"Lucky bloke," Draco teased, and Pansy's nose twitched. "Apologies."

"Oh, you'll apologise. Rein him in. Otherwise, Blaise will be turned into a fabulous new suit, and guess who I will get to model such a suit?" Draco pointed at himself. "There is a brain in there after all. Oh, and  _congratulations_ , I am rather pleased about your living situation—even if it is against every Pureblood rule."

Draco snorted. "I think sleeping around before marriage is another, one we are already guilty of breaking."

Pansy smirked, hovering at his office door as she tilted her head. "You two, you are meant to be. We can all see it. I'll have words with Narcissa, see if I can get her to control her tongue."

"I'd appreciate it."

"And for me, you will speak to Potter. Please?" Pansy said. "I won't get on my knees to beg, but I am considering it—which just shows you how much he means to me."

He placed his quill down, unsure how he ever got any work done. "If I tell him I know, you do realise that it will become public. Potter doesn't often keep things very quiet when he's rattled." Pansy sighed. "You don't care, do you?" Pansy dipped her head. "Oh fucking hell, Parkinson—"

" _Language_!" Hermione's booming voice shouted, filling the room.

Draco shook his head. "I can't believe the bloody witch, spelled my room."

Pansy opened the door, biting down on her lip. "Devious things, witches. They're even worse when upset, remember that."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Like you'd ever allow me to forget."

* * *

His former home was a sight for sore eyes when Draco entered. Placing his robe over an armchair, staring at the array of bottles and cigarette stubs on his coffee table as he swished his wand vanishing the lot of them. Mess irked him like nothing else, and he was somewhat thankful he had met someone who shared his obsession with cleanliness in their home. His footsteps sounded over the wooden floor as he noticed the curls of dust, trailing his finger over his furniture that he felt he hadn't seen in so long and while he expected to feel like he had missed it, Draco didn't.

Not  _even_  in the slightest.

Draco found that he held no good memories here, only the ones he had shared with Blaise—and they weren't all good—although he was pleased to see that since then his friend had come on leaps and bounds. Draco climbed the staircase without much thought, peering into his friend's room to find it empty and turned quickly to his own. Waving his hand over the door, watching it open—just as it always did—he noticed how pathetic it really looked now that he wasn't living in it. He found, quite miserably, that the things he had left here didn't matter to him anymore, and Draco suspected that was why he hadn't missed being without them.

He found himself gazing out of the window, wondering where all these months had come and gone, how he had been lucky enough to get the witch that sat in the tree. His fingers tapping the window before he turned on his heel, carrying the bag down the stairs with ease as he took all he could of the home that had once helped heal him. Draco had never been a sentimental person—or never had been up until this point—and so he wasn't sure if it was the house, the girl or even the fact that before this place he couldn't stand himself, but he felt odd about bidding it goodbye. Even if the place was remaining in the family, so to speak.

"Look what the owl brought home," a voice said, and Draco spun on his heel to meet a rather put-together Blaise, dressed in robes that showed his wealth. "You come to check up on me or on your home?"

"Neither," Draco said, dropping the bag as he put his hands in his pockets. "I have come to inform you that you can remain here." Blaise frowned. "I am giving you the cottage—this is yours for as long as you wish it to be. Like all things, it comes with a condition." Blaise rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall. "Stop winding up Pansy. I know that you know why she's all,  _Un-Pansy-Like_ , so stop. You need to just...keep it in your pants or go soil yourself in another field."

Blaise looked at him with a smirk, kicking from where he stood as he swaggered over to where he stood, his arm moving out to the sofa. "Care to sit on my sofa?"

"I do not have time for games, I have to get back to Astoria," Blaise smirked, and Draco felt his cheeks go red, feeling the need to explain. "I got lucky, and I'm not about to ruin it," Draco said, Blaise nodding in acceptance.

Blaise pointed to the seat opposite him as he slumped into the chair. Draco nervously tapping his foot before moving around to sit, adjusting his position in the sofa he once lay on for days. "I'm not going to play games; I want to be better than I was. But, I do want to discuss with you, what we are going to do about Potter? No one hurts our girl."

Draco shook his head, his hands meeting together on his knees as he gritted his jaw. "We... _do nothing_. Long were the days where we would need to rush to her side to protect her; she is more familiar with painful curses than you or I." Rubbing his thighs, Draco relaxed, "this, is not our battle. You, just need to keep it in your pants."

"He hurt her!"

Draco rose to his feet holding his hand out to his friend as Blaise took it, the two shaking it. "Haven't we all? I remember a ridiculous slick-backed blond who thought it was  _'funny'_  to string her along, and a bloody fool who thought he could spin her feelings into sexual conquests. We have all,  _hurt her_. I think, however, you should speak to Parkinson... she's not as wounded as you seem to think, she actually seems... _normal_."

Moving across the room, Draco picked up his bags, watching as his friend slumped down on the sofa once more.

"And Blaise?" His friend turning to face him. "Don't get naked in the garden; this is a fucking respectable village."

Draco smirked as he let the words land, opening up the front door as a cold breeze hit him. He felt Blaise's eyes on him, but he continued over the threshold, all the same, moving down the path when he was stopped by the call of his name. Turning, Draco saw Blaise stood in the doorway of his former home—now Blaise's.

"I don't think," Blaise's hand running over his head as he frowned. "I don't think; I like Daphne anymore, I think—I haven't since that, since the first night I really moved in here," Blaise muttered, Draco dropped his bags, slapping him on the shoulder with one hand as the two did the most unknown thing they could—they hugged.

It didn't last long—not at all—but it was enough to spread comfort and brother-like-love between them. "Caught up with the rest of us then? You always want what you cannot have, hence the obsession with Daphne in the first place...Oh and that Hufflepuff in sixth year," Draco smirked as he winked, letting go of Blaise. "You aren't that good at lies either, mate. Also, Theo... he has a knack for these things."

"Bloody, Nott."

Draco laughed, moving to pick up his bags. "Bloody Nott, indeed. Take care of yourself, and you know where I am."

Blaise nodded. "I do."

"Let the house do its job, Blaise," Draco muttered, moving to the open gate as he stepped out onto the street. "Let it make you better than we ever thought we could be."

* * *

**oOo**


	12. Hemera

**Hemera**

* * *

"So," Theo smirked with amusement as Draco groaned. A cocky Theo, was not a Theo that Draco much enjoyed—not that there were many versions of Theo he happened to find enjoyable.

Slipping his hand into his pocket, Draco pulled out several galleons and shoved them into Theo's hands. He hated losing—especially to him. Draco couldn't fight the roll of his eyes as Theo raised each coin to the sky, looking over them, rubbing it in Draco's face,  _annoying_  him.

"I love being right," Theo added, bringing the coin to his lips between biting gently on the metal.

Draco snarled, trying to mask his bitterness. "They aren't  _fake_."

Theo scoffed, shoving the coins in his pocket. " _You_  happen to be engaged to a very devious little eagle; I wouldn't put it past her to  _spin_  your cotton into gold."

Draco reached for his glass, swirling the golden liquid before raising it to his lips, tasting the deliciousness of bitter whiskey. It began torching his throat in the right way, and in all the perfect places.

"So,  _little_  Zabini has finally opened his eyes?" Theo spoke suddenly, pulling him from his thoughts. "And won me money from the littlest loser in the world?"

Tutting at his words, Draco shot him a glare, finishing off the rest of his glass. He had only come to meet Theo to face the music of his loss—and he regretted it already. "Why... is everyone little to you all of a sudden?" Draco said.

Theo's eyes drifted to a slender male on the other side of the room, and Draco watched as his friend rubbed his own hand over his mouth as his eyes flicked dangerously up and down—assessing the man as if they were prey. Draco began to bet in his head how long it would take for Theo to slide over and slip him a key for one of the rooms upstairs—his signature move that Draco had seen play out all too often. Theo turned back to face him, a small smirk passing over his lips that made Draco shudder, only imagining the filth that was currently running through the man's mind.

Theo threw away the now dangerous smirk as if he remembered that he had been asked a question. "Well, my  _dear Malfoy_. Everyone, is small from up here, you know, this pedestal I have been placed upon," Theo said, using his hand to circle the ground beside him as he grabbed Draco's glass, waiting until it had magically filled before draining it. "Oo," his lips pursing as he enjoyed his drink, "you was right, this is... _sinfully_  delicious. I owe you."

"Yes," Draco snarled as he punched him playfully. "Awfully rude to take a man's liquor."

Theo laughed. "Better that than if I was to take your woman," straightening his face as Draco pondered for a moment before punching him in the arm again. "Stop!  _Stop_  it!" Draco paused his fist mid-air as Theo winked, "I might like it."

Rolling his eyes as Theo's laugh echoed through the place. Draco nodded to the barman that he didn't wish for any more, thankful that Hogsmeade had no qualms with the Malfoy's, and not wanting to push his luck.

Turning to face his friend, catching Theo nearly salivating at the mouth. "Down boy."

"Oh, trust me," Theo raising his own glass with a little shake. "A few more of these paid for by that man, and I'll be down... _on him._ "

"Good grief,  _Salazar_ ," Draco laughed as Theo winked at him before glancing over at the man—who in Draco's opinion didn't seem like Theo's type at all. "You sure  _he_  is what you want...tonight?"

Theo smirked. "We don't all have people waiting at home, Malfoy."

Draco rolled his jaw as Theo nodded his head—showing no ill feelings were meant. He caught sight of a piece of his friend's hair having now fallen down in front of his eyes and Draco had to laugh, knowing this was all on purpose, Theo Nott's signature  _come-hither_  look. How predictable of him.

"I'm going to...you know," Theo nodded in the direction of the man at the bar.

"Yeah,  _yeah_ ," Draco smirked as he rose up and shook his hand. "Best get home anyway."

"Yeah, to your  _lady_ ," Theo sang as Draco thumped him. "Ow!"

Draco flicked his eyebrows up as Theo straightened his jacket, the tell-tale sign that Theo was about to enter the  _'wild'_  to hunt and devour. Theo having had some ridiculous idea that the whole look made him look more dangerous, when it positively did not.

Draco raised his hand to pat him on the shoulder, "play nice."

Theo turned around, walking backwards. "Don't I always?"

"No... _actually_  you don't."

"Sue me," Theo laughed as he puckered his lips, Draco shaking his head as he opened the door, leaving the bar for the cold air.

* * *

His hands slid up the sides of his face. Fingers snatching at his blond locks, gripping and pulling them painfully against his scalp, hoping, needing to feel pain. The bold words on the front page began flickering on the walls, slamming his eyelids shut, tears burning behind his lids as he urged to feel them sting. He wanted to feel, he needed to feel, to make sure he remembered—as if he needed a reminder.

Draco wasn't stupid; he was actually intelligent if anyone ever gave him the chance to prove it. That was why he had predicted this, prepared somewhat for the harpies at the Prophet to print  _lies_ , to claim that his relationship was him ' _moving on_ '—getting his happy ending, as though he didn't deserve one. He had somewhat prepared for it, but he hadn't expected for it to hurt as much as it did, or how bad it would be when he saw her name being dragged alongside his.

His eyes grazed and burned over the mark on his forearm, the bitterness he felt as he did it, remembering the pain that came with it, but it not being enough to forgive himself. Draco would never forget the way he screamed for someone to help—yet no one ever did. It was a test of strength, they would say; it makes you a man, his father added.

Draco hated it the moment it slithered over his skin. He wished he could rid the sight just for a moment, enough to feel less guilty not for his own happiness and think of his arm as an arm, not what it stood for now. He wanted to pick at it, peel the skin until only muscle and blood was left—he tried to rid himself of his past.

Even with these wishes, even with these desires, Draco liked the reminder. There was something about seeing it, remembering what he had done, what he had taken. He liked that it showed him that he was a fool—that he was as good as killed. Draco welcomed the reminder of what he had taken from others without care, that he as good near brought down the world—as they knew it—to its feet.

No one knew that he still felt this way, nobody ever would. This was his thoughts, his secrets, his burden. He refused to let anyone carry it, even if his mother wished too. Draco would rather the world paint him in the darkest colours; he would even allow them to use his image as a poster for how children shouldn't be. Draco would rather let them think that then let them find out the truth. That he had been scared,  _terrified_. That a bathroom occupied by a ghost was his only solitude and for most of his sixth year, he had been crying like the child in any corner that would hide him.

He had been a foolish child who wished to play with the big boys, the false sense of growth instilled in him that he took for reality.

"Draco?"

He ripped open his eyes, turning to look at her standing in the doorway, her hands dropping the bags to the floor as she darted onto her knees, skidding almost. Draco wondered,  _unexpectedly_ , if the carpet had burnt her skin at the speed she moved to be beside him, but if had she had, she had chosen to pay little attention to it.

Astoria's hand was cold against his cheek—not because he was warm, having chosen to open the window and let in the fierce wind, hoping it would sweep the negativity out of him. She would say she had poor circulation, and he would warm her because he loved her—but there was nothing in him to warm her today, he was cold, empty, almost like he wasn't there at all. Astoria looked like happiness, but she was too far for him to touch; she looked like the light that fought the darkness, but was so out of reach.

_Killer_.

The word flickered across his eyes. Written in bold like it had been in the newspaper. Draco convulsed, his bones trembling at the thought of her reading those words—of thinking those thoughts about him. Time had flown by and yet nothing had changed, nothing would ever change. Eventually, even if they had been together for months now, she would change too—he expected it, he was preparing for it. She would morph, and Astoria would turn, twisting in the wind, turning to hate him, slowly despising him.

_Muggle-Hater._

The second bold word flashing up in his vision, burning and ruining all that he could see, all that he had built. It felt almost like another life, it felt as though he was a different person with different eyes. She made him feel different, act different,  _be different._  Draco wasn't a failure, he wasn't a coward and he wasn't alone—Astoria saw brightness and light in him even if he was unwilling to see it himself. It didn't matter, Draco knew he was this person, right down to the core; he would never change, they were right—all of them.

He was evil because he was made that way. Just like his Father, who was rotten to the core.

Astoria's fingers began brushing over his cheek, moving slowly up to his forehead as he felt his skin against hers. He heard soft words being whispered as she tried to bring him back, her tone sharpening as she begun to drag him back when he wouldn't return. It was like hearing a recurring song, except he didn't know the words and only listened to his own version.

Draco knew her words contradicting his—hers were positive, and his were negative. He could sense her frustration as the air crackled around him; he could feel the mood changing, and her need for him faltering.

Then Draco felt a cold sting. It ached, throbbed even—he was sure his pale skin had turned white. It was like fire on ice; it was shocking like electricity. The agony pumped all across his cheek, moving into his mouth. Draco almost braced for the metal taste, his own blood.

"That got your  _bloody_  attention."

His hand rising to the offended area, her hand thrusting the scrunched up paper to in front of him, her eyes full of fire and anger. If he looked closer, and stared more intently, Draco was sure that he would see ashes flying around, as though something was actually burning inside of her.

She was talking, her lips moving as he urged his conscious to slip back into gear, catching her mid-sentence. "—Don't let them belittle you, don't let them take all of this from you," Astoria snarled, shaking her head before throwing the paper on the bed. She pressed her lips to his forehead as he wished to feel her touch again—gripping her arms to keep her in place.

"I know that you carry this with you, I know it will always be a part of us, but do not think for a moment that you don't deserve happiness for a mistake. Okay? Do not let them have power over you," Astoria urged, and he wanted to believe her.

Draco wondered if he was a thousand miles away, staring down at himself as he watched her crumble beside him—and he couldn't stop it. She looked so much like a mother when she scolded him, and he felt so like a child in this moment. He wanted nothing more than to come back to the room, to touch her skin and listen—feeling her words. Draco wanted to be there in person and be in the moment; he wanted to be pulled just watching, and actually live—be apart of this with her—but he was struggling.

He was fighting, but he wasn't close to winning.

"You deserve happiness, you deserve  _this_ ," Astoria added in a softer tone as she sunk further down, so she was down on her knees before him.

Draco felt something drip over him, as though he was slipping back into gear. Control began returning to his limbs, somewhat similar to waking up after a hangover. His senses started to kick into gear, the sense of smell and feeling of pain returned to his formerly numb body.

"You're not alone, not ever. Not as long as I breathe."

Her hand moving down to his cheek as she kissed his forehead again, his eyes locking with her as he tried to communicate the pain in his chest, the guilt in his shoulders, the brokenness in his heart. Draco needed and wanted to tell her how broken he was—how destroyed he was. Most of all, he was tired and that a smile wasn't easier than a frown. He tried to communicate that there was nothing else he wanted more than her close to him  _always_ ; that when she left him even for a moment, he just felt relentless pain, tiredness, and misery.

"That's okay," Astoria whispered, hand moving over his as she smiled sweetly at him. "I am here; I will always be here. You're not alone; you aren't a monster, Draco. You are not like him. You aren't your father..."

Draco raised his head slowly, his fingers moving into her hand as he squeezed it, using the gesture to say the words he wanted to say to her, except, this felt all wrong to say. To tell her now wouldn't be right, but he could feel them hitching in his throat, burning against him, urging and needing to be screamed. Draco continued to stare into her beautiful eyes as she smiled at him. She deserved to know, he knew that, but now... _it felt odd._  Like she already knew them, as if he knew that she felt them also.

"Come on," Astoria said as she stood, slowly tugging him up to his feet weakly, her fingers adjusting his shirt as he stood before her, the newspaper long forgotten about, lay down on the bed away from them. "I don't care what they think, you... you, are the bravest man I know."

Draco wanted to smirk, wishing to add that she ' _clearly didn't know all that many people then if that was her feelings_ ', but he refrained.

In truth, Astoria was the only one that mattered—his Queen, his love. He wished to say that, to tell how much she actually meant to him. "I..." Draco said, parting his lips. She had a look upon her face, one he had never seen; a look that was so alluring that he lost the words for a moment, a breath even and so he released everything else, and let words fall from his mouth without thought. "I don't deserve you."

"Your mark  _doesn't_  define you, Draco. Your cockiness and snobbery on the other hand —"

"This isn't a joking time..."

"I'm not attempting to think this is a joke," she sighed against him, the air tensing again.

Darkness began to surround him once more, and Draco tried to keep it at bay. His eyes searching and clutching on to the tunnel that led to light—even as it got further from his grasp. Attempting to focus on the smell of sweetness and her—and her touch. He couldn't shake the feeling of regret that crushed his back from weighing so much.

Draco wishes he had run. He wished he had remained a teenager and hadn't got involved in things he didn't understand. He wished he hadn't begged to grow up, and help his father.

"Seems like you are; is that what this is? A joke?" He said irrationally, unsure why a part of himself wanted to fire these words at her, snatching himself from her grasp as he turned, his hands running through his hair as he wished to yank and pull, tug and feel all over again. The words had already tumbled from his mouth, Draco couldn't stop them, wishing to grip his lips together to stop them. "I  _cannot_  be fixed," he added sharply.

It was then that Draco noticed ice appeared in her eyes, the flickers of ash gone—replaced with a stare that could kill. Astoria looked venomous, she looked powerful, she looked like the epitome of strength. "I am not  _trying_  to fix you! I am trying to show you that you are more than a fucking mistake. That you are more than a fucking black mark on your bloody arm—"

The anger continued to rise in him, and he couldn't squash it—he couldn't silence the bitterness. "Then what am I? What else am I? To me, I am a failure, a killer, a coward—"

"You are a man of pure strength, untold bravery, unseen kindness, even humour when you want to be funny," she snarled at him, louder and more dominant than he. She interrupted him before he could argue his point—she was in charge, and she controlled everything in the room, making him quake under her rage. "You are  _arrogant_ , you are  _infuriating_ , you are childish and, yes, yes sometimes you are a  _coward_. You are a coward because you choose to be, it is not a default, it's not how you were made and it is not how you need to be. You let that define you. You let that mark ruin you. It is doing none of this, you are! You are letting  _it, and them,_  win."

Turning to face her, her cold glare making his anger flicker—licking against him, but not quite consuming him. Astoria would never understand, she should be upset, she should want better, the words printed were right—cruel,  _but right_. She  _shouldn't_  be defending him; she shouldn't even be here.  _He didn't deserve her._

Beginning to breathe calmly, relaxing his shoulders, Draco tried to hold onto the world he was in rather than the one in his mind. Without her, no one would even notice that he had been walking the place, lost and alone. She had treated him like he was anyone else—like he was someone else.

"Draco!" Astoria snapped, breaking through and bringing his mind back to the present.

"What?"

Shaking her head. "You are one deaf  _bloody_  twit!" Her voice laced in frustration. "Don't  _do_  this, don't let them tear us apart. You are so  _much_  more than a fucking tattoo, a fucking ridiculous one at that. That  _fucking_  man needed to reevaluate his life if that was the best he could come up with, a bloody skull snake? Bloody Merlin do not leave me," her voice reaching an all-new pitch, tears building in her eyes. "Don't let them  _take_  you again, you can't leave me."

The other part of him, the darker, hating part of him seized in that moment. The sob that was mixed in with her words, the hurt and pain brought him back. He could feel her, and he could feel something else inside of him calling him back—showing him the way to the light. It was urging him, pushing him back to her.

Astoria looked over her shoulder, and Draco could tell she was frowning at the newspaper on the bed. With a determined stance, she spun on her heel, letting him go and leaving him cold. Her hand grasped the paper as she flung it into the air—all of the sheets falling apart from one another—slowly falling gracefully down upon them. Pulling her wand from her holster, a bright light exploded from it, and the paper exploded into tiny particles of paper. They curled into themselves, burning and twisting in the tiny flames she had created. It descended down on them, as his eyes moved down to her face, seeing the single tear that had fallen zig-zag down her cheek.

Her hands moved to his sides as he suddenly began feeling whole again; her touch pulling the last part of him back as his heart did a double beat. The whole thing, the words, the paper all crumbling and he almost felt the doubts inside him do the same. His eyes widening a little at the way she viewed him, never before being this vulnerable and still being accepted by someone that wasn't forced to care.

"You was and  _are_  brave. You're kind and humble, and you're caring, and you'd die for your friends! That, that is who you are," Astoria smiled, her finger prodding his chest as she clung to his side tighter. "You are the person who spared Harry in that house. You let that nightmare of what happened to that girl,  _haunt_  you. You tried to right your wrongs, you try...every damn day." Her lips rolling over the other as she dipped her head, her fingers falling from their grip on him.

His hand grabbed her and pulled her flush against him, Draco's heart silencing his doubtful mind, squashing the doubtful darkness. Her eyes softened as his fingers took hold of her passionately, pressing his forehead to hers, knowing now, this time, it was as perfect as it would ever be.

"I love you."

The first time he had said those words, and they were on the back of such a painful moment—such an eye-opening show of the battles he faced. Draco licked his lips, staring into her eyes as he watched them shimmer. "I love you, Astoria."

"I..." her words fading and he half-smiled at taking her by surprise before she smiled, beautifully, proudly. "I, love you also."

"I'm sorry."

Her shoulders relaxing. "You have to find peace with that version of you...otherwise he's going to tear us apart."

"I'm sorry."

Astoria smiled, letting out a small laugh. "Don't be sorry, just...breathe," she said as her hand skated his cheek. "Release it, and  _breathe_. It is just a newspaper; it's one column about our sex lives, it is not, us. No one, no one knows us. That is just for us."

Her finger sliding over his lips. "Don't ruin a beautiful moment with any more words," she whispered as her head rested on his chest, her hair catching flakes of paper as her finger slid down his chin before her hand rested above his heart, feeling the way it beat against her.

_For her.  
_ _For them._

* * *

oOo


	13. Cronus

**Cronus**

* * *

Draco found he watched Astoria like a hawk whenever they had to visit her Healer. Every single glance being caught by her—Draco had never been known for being subliminal, least of all with her. He found he bit the inside of his mouth to the point he bled whenever she was handed a potion. Although not all visits included this—more and more of them did. Draco always listened more intently, taking in enough for the two of them as she was informed of a long list of side effects, it sounded like the Healer was spouting a poem with the number of  _terms and conditions_  came with the expensive treatment.

Regardless of whatever risk they tried to inform her off, Astoria would simply roll her eyes and be already busy uncorking the bottle, swallowing the liquid before the Healer had a chance to finish.

The last month had been harder for them. With the colder weather approaching, the illnesses popped up in their crowds—hammering her with both Muggle and Wizarding diseases. The common cold was far deadlier than it was for Muggle's; Wizarding cold nearly put her in a coma—that was three days Draco never wished to see again.

On this occasion, post-visit to the hospital—riddles with diseases—Drac watched Astoria slowly climbed their staircase, her tired body curling into the sheets of their bed, her eyes barely opening for longer than a simple conversation. He wished he could spend all day with her on those days, but work had been relentless.

When the third day of the  _common cold_  had taken her ability to feed herself, Draco worked from home. He was thankful for Potter's input, and the chance to berate the man—in a kinder fashion than he deserved—for hurting his best friend. Draco quickly learnt not everything was as black and white as Pansy had told him—not that he had entirely believed it would be.

Draco remained beside her as the fourth day washed over them. His fingers turned the pages of the book in his hand, the rain furiously pelting against their windows; the wind howled, drowning out the sound of her music softly playing in the background to help her sleep. He felt he waited forever for Astoria to wake when she was ill, continually wrestling between slumber and awake, and as he draped another blanket over her cheek watched as her eyelashes fluttered.

He had never been one for naps, but on a lazy Friday afternoon—when he would usually be at work, knee deep in parchment—Draco didn't argue when sleep tried to take him. Curling around her, feeling the best coming off her as he succumbed to dreams his brain wished to show him.

Sleep didn't keep him for long, Draco waking up to the sunshine blaring in through the windows. A soft smile played over her lips at the sight of her arm over his chest, feeling how cold she had become, and how pale her hand was in contrast to even him. If not for the small exhale of breath against his arm he would have been sure she had passed in her sleep—knowing, in reality, this could happen, Draco found it stung far more than he liked.

When Sunday approached, Draco found that while the colour had returned to her cheeks, Astoria remained subdued. She barely battered an eyelid when he moaned about going back to work, and she had little to comment on when he hissed about his father's perpetual letter. Most frightening at all, Astoria didn't grin when he told her that Potter had reached out to Pansy.

It was a week later, a peach colour appearing on her cheeks when she laughed. Her eyes were glittering when she found something humorous or mischievous, like: " _If the wind changes, you will remain like that_."

Draco felt himself frown more profound than usual as she laughed over the top of her book, a small crease in the corner of her mouth. Lowering the paper in his hand, he slowly snatched the book from hers, earning his a raucous laugh from her tiny frame.

"What  _are you_  talking about?" He asked, throwing her book and his paper to the floor, taking one of her wrists and pinning her down as he lay between her legs.

Astoria snuggled down against the pillows, rather liking the position from the seems of it. Her hair around her face, laughter still printed on her entire body—making her glow—as he pressed a kiss to her nose. He wished he could take a picture of her like this—keep it forever. Astoria looked so natural, and even more beautiful in the face of her illness, the one she wasn't allowing to bother her.

"I'm not sure," Astoria laughed as Draco kissed her lips softly. "Something, the kind book shopkeeper, says when I frown."

Feeling her wriggle underneath him, and he continued to pin her down, listening to her  _fakely_  struggle.

"I love you," Draco said after a moment, feeling her seize as he released her wrist.

Her marvellously big eyes rolled, her fingers brushed against his cheek, the bristle of his stubble against the softness of her skin crackling through the air. Draco knew she hated it—him saying it now that it had been spoken, not wishing to become those couples who repeat those words endlessly as a way of filling a moment.

"Greenglass..." Draco teased, hoping to dispel the tension.

"Stop," her hands shoving him off her as he laughed, "calling,  _me_  that."

He grabbed his chest, feigning pain. "But it annoys you terribly," he said charmingly, backing away from her as she grabbed a pillow and flung it in his direction. Draco, who had been mid-laugh, froze when he heard her let out a large sigh, almost making him feel bad for teasing her when she had so little energy. "As an apology, my dearest fiancé, I shall make you... _toast_?"

Astoria snorted. "Toast! Oh, how you spoil me Malfrog."

Throwing the pillow back at her, Astoria grabbing it with an  _oof._ "Now even you can admit that was a poor comeback," Draco smirked.

She rolled her eyes. "I admit nothing. Now, servant, get me some warmed up bread and a cup of  _tea."_

He sniggered as he left the room, summoning his dressing gown wandlessly as he did.

* * *

Draco was unsure if he had ever felt more awkward in all of his life. This included all the uncomfortable dinners he had to share in his sixth and seventh year with the house guest who let his pet devour uninvited guests for entertainment. He was just thankful that he wasn't alone, that he had Astoria beside him, red-lipped and smirking as she watched the two opposite bicker.

He  _blamed_  Astoria.

Not out loud—he didn't have a death wish—but he did. This evening was proof that his  _gorgeous_ but seemingly devious fiancé, could not plan a respectable meal for friends. If she hadn't of been wearing such a rather revealing dress he would have made this point earlier, but he had been distracted when she had whispered what his reward would be if he  _'just bit his tongue_ '.

That promise had been made an hour ago. The foursome had barely got through their starters before old wounds were opened, words were said that created an awkward tension that hung above them all. Potter had often looked at him for support, but he had no sympathy for the wizard. He, after all, had been stupid enough to bring up sixth year at the table and he was dumb enough not to come up with a better cover up what he had  _'really meant_ '. He was actually impressed that Pansy hadn't turned the wine bottle upside down over his head, drowning him in red wine, before beating him with it for good measure. Actually, Draco was just impressed that all she did was ram her fork into his hand.

Something Potter was still complaining about—not unusual for the  _attention-seeking_  Gryffindor.

The table was now deadly silent, so silent he could almost hear Astoria's thoughts.

" _I do not want to end up like them_ ," her eyes screamed, as her mind shouted them for good measure.

Draco covered her hand with his under the table. "We won't," he assured without speaking, affirming it with a smile.

Pansy was glaring at him—as if he had  _personally asked_  Potter not to think. Draco could feel it, a mixture of ice-cold pins and knife edges, slowly grazing and digging into every single fibre of him and he knew that if he made contact, it would only sting more. Pansy was scarier than even Granger when she wanted to be. The one, and only, upside to Pansy was Draco knew her moves, although in this scenario it didn't give him any greater comfort. Draco also hadn't failed to notice that  _sweetness and light_ beside him were getting no glares. He could admit he felt a little bitter at this—Draco was a man after all.

"So," Astoria chimed out of nowhere. "I will get straight to why I brought you both here."

Her bright eyes meeting Draco's as she basked in being drowned in his eyes—she looked like the witch who got the potion, and he wished she didn't seem so pleased with herself.

"The rumours—they are true. At some point in the future, I will die," her hand rising to silence any questions, exactly like a professor. "I know that we all die, I  _am not_ ridiculous. But, my life has been cut considerably shorter by an illness there currently is no cure for. It has weaved itself with my magic, it is genetic, and it is unfortunate—but I do not  _need_  pity. Now," Astoria sighed as Draco assumed she was working to broach an even more difficult part. "I need you to promise me, that—when it does, or whatever—that you'll both look after this man," her eyes moving to Draco's as he fixed his on hers. "He is an absolute child, but he's my everything, and I need to know that he will never be alone."

Draco dipped his head as he felt Potter stare sadly towards him. He didn't want to be here, not right now—not swimming in this conversation he had been avoiding.

"Theo knows," Astoria continued, as she turned to give attention to Pansy. "I have also informed Hermione," she added, turning to meet Potter's eyes. "I have yet to inform Blaise,  _officially,_  although I feel he knows more than he lets on."

Astoria placed her hand around her champagne flute, raising it up between the table. "Let's get on with the evening, shall we? You two," her finger waving over the two their guests opposite them. "Please say that your debate is over with, I would very much like to have a nice meal. One doesn't get taken out all that much these days, and I have heard that the fish is delightful. Don't  _make_  me have got dressed up to eat burnt toast at home."

Draco hadn't missed that dig, and he may have risen to it if not for the knowledge of what was  _under_  her dress. For that reason alone, he opted to give her a small smile, accompanied by a peck on the cheek as she giggled before returning to her wine.

Potter cleared his throat, moving his hand around the back of Pansy's chair. "Do you remember the time Malfoy dressed up as a Dementor, Astoria?" Draco gripped his thigh as he felt Astoria grin beside him. "Does he like to dress up for you?"

Attempting to ignore the high-pitched giggle across from him—piercing and snake-like from Pansy—all while drowning the sweet one beside him, Draco smiled. "Pansy, you remember how Potter was  _obsessed_ with me and chased me into a bathroom?"

Potter sniggered, and the tension evaporated from the table. "I just wanted to see your  _wand_ , Malfoy."

"Ugh," Draco commented, the other three erupting into laughter.

* * *

To anyone other than Astoria, Draco would have looked odd. Hanging in the darkness of their hallway, watching her as she wrapped the bedsheet around herself, clinching it in at the waist. She proceeded to pat it down, tilting her head side to side, trailing her eyes up and down her appearance in the mirror. When Astoria let out a huge sigh, he decided that it was his time to appear from the darkness—ready to speak the truth and enlighten her on how beautiful she looked, even in a bedsheet.

" _Tori_?" He announced, watching her turn on the spot to face him, panic flooding her face as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Do I  _dare_  ask?"

Astoria groaned, struggling to move back to the end of the bed as she flopped down on the bed—the sheet crunching as she did. "Your mother's suggestion for a dress came today. Either she thought it would be hilarious—or she thinks I'm the size of a twig." Letting out a huff, Astoria placed her head in her hands. "I can't—I can't do it Draco."

Draco felt his throat tighten, a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind as he bit down on the inside of his cheek, attempting to silence them. Although his appearance to her was normal, his insides were knotting—his nerves on edge, tingling all around his body; his brain swirling with more ridiculous—by the minute—ideas. Draco knew he was failing miserably at keeping calm, especially as she began to wring her hands out in front of him, her lips rolling and rolling against the other.

"I can't—you deserve so much more than," Astoria began, her eyes focused on the carpet as he strode over to her in less than three steps. Sinking to his knees, he took her trembling hands in one of his, the other on her cheek. "You deserve a wedding where—I can't, I'm not Daphne—"

"I love that you  _aren't_  Daphne," Draco silenced her, tears filling her eyes. "I love  _you_ , Tori, I don't...I need you."

Draco's chest began to tighten, watching as her own pain started to show in her usually vacant face. A single, twinkling tear began to fall from her eyes, and Draco watched it trailing down her pale cheek, her eyes full of pain and ice and—disappointment. His thumb brushed the tear away, keeping his hands where they were.

"Astoria..." Draco breathed, hearing her sniff. "Whatever I can have, has to be with you. This has to be you-you need to decide if it's  _me_  that  _you_  want."

"Draco," she sighed.

He tilted her head, so her forehead pressed against his. "I want to marry you," Draco continued as she sniffed, and another tear fell. "Do you want to marry me?"

Draco wasn't sure his heart had ever beaten so quickly, including the day he had asked her to begin with. It thumped so violently against his ribs he was sure they would crack under all the pressure. He felt cold, a chill running down his spine.

"It's not about—"

"Do  _you_  want to marry  _me_?" He asked. "Whether that be, in  _Malfoy Gardens._  Greengrass Gardens. A mountain. This room. I will marry you anywhere."

Her lips pursed and Draco moved back from her, letting her hand fall from his as his hand dropped from her face. Regret willing him—washing over him—as he was sure his world was falling apart, crumbling at his fingertips.

"I don't want to—"

Draco stood quickly from his knees, turning from her as if he could feel the abandonment growing over him—like vines that wanted to pierce into him. Draco was sure the happiness was fading from his bones, allowing misery to creep up his skin. The laughter was fading from the wallpaper, and the door frames were becoming darker, in all the misery.

"Draco," Astoria sobbed, his fingers ruffling his hair as he let out a large sigh before turning to face her. "I just don't want to marry you  _here_ , with all of  _them_  watching."

His head dipping, waiting for her to add more until it dawned on him what she meant. Warmth rushed through him, and Draco met her eyes immediately, trying not to let the flutter in his chest make him nervous. A new glimmer of hope pulsating in his chest, spreading out and filling him.

"Wait,  _you_  want—"

"Of course," Astoria added, standing up, clutching the bedsheet against her chest, so she didn't expose herself to him. "I'd be stupid not to marry you. I...love you. Not just when I'm mad at you, or when I'm happy. All the time. I haven't ever loved anything as much as you—well except my collection of fairy tales, but I guess they were wrong, love isn't as easy as losing a shoe."

Draco found himself grinning. "Wrong like me?"

"Especially you," Astoria's arms wrapping around his neck as he kissed her nose. "I don't want a  _Pureblood_  wedding. I just want to be your wife, without the fireworks and the ruffles and the fucking nine-tiered cake. I want a biscuit and a cup of tea; I want a dress that isn't impossible to walk in. I want our wedding to be what we want, not what society expects."

Draco had never held her so tight that night. The doubts and the wrongly thought words he feared would be the end of them, faded from him as though they never happened. The next few days enlightened him on the height of his mother's planning, and he felt no guilt when he had burst into a rage at the ridiculousness of a tailor showing up at his workplace. His head had never thrust into the fire quicker as he berated his mother for being so  _impossibly frustrating_.

That night, Draco came home and held Astoria in his arms, telling her with fiery anger that no more would they be having a wedding ran by either of their mothers. Astoria could pick and plan everything—he didn't think she had ever got on her knees quick enough

Overnight the two of them fell to sleep far happier, their bodies entwining in adoration, rather than anger like it had been. Everything changed—thinks seemed to have a glow to them, things that usually irked the both of them, happened no more. Even Granger failed to annoy him, and when Theo turned up demanding that he be the one to dress Draco for the wedding, he had agreed, with a smile on his face.

Draco Malfoy was happy, but he didn't quite know the price that happiness came at, Like a reminder that not all could be perfect, Astoria's cough came back with a vengeance two weeks later when the snow began to descend down over their home.

Potion, after potion, had been thrown into her tiny frame and when he was finally able to bring her home, she looked as pale as the sheets in their bed, and that was an improvement on when she had been in St. Mungos. Astoria was adamant he acted no different, insisting he changed no plans—took no time off. He hated it, wanting to shove his heels into ground and protest he could do what he wanted to do, but when she begged him, pleaded with him—he couldn't say no, of course, he couldn't.

Draco despised keeping up appearances, sitting with his mother as they discussed trivial things like when they'd begin planning; meetings at work where they'd argue over permissions and signatures for legislations—mindlessly dull bar-chat with the other Slytherin's.

That was when realisation struck—chilling him right down to the bone. Draco may not be as lucky next time—what if one day he couldn't bring her home, what if keeping appearances wasn't possible because there was no appearance to keep.

What if he  _lost_  her?  
What if she  _died_?

Bending down on his knees at the side of their bed, turning on the lampshades with his hand. Her eyes blinked quickly, her head moving from side to side as she tried to adjust to the dim light from their lampshade, her hair still tousled from sleep. His heart fluttered in his chest, ready to take flight and merge with hers—exactly where it wanted to be.

"Marry me," Draco blurted out as she sighed loudly, his hand retrieving a box from his pocket.

Astoria moved up onto her elbows, her hair stuck in random positions—but he had never seen her more beautiful. "Are we having a deja-vu moment? I think we covered this in a hospital bed a month or so ago."

_Her humour, he loved her humour._ Draco pondered if that would be what he missed the most, if and when she ever left him, or would it be her smile, her laugh, her sweet and kind heart.

Draco shook the thoughts away, showing her the silver band with the light sapphire stone in the centre. "Astoria—"

"Tori," she corrected.

"Tori,  _Astoria Greengrass_. Will you do me the honour of marrying me—"

"It is a cough I do not have bloody amnesia, you know? You don't have to repeat the whole  _bloody_  thing—"

"Tomorrow?" Draco finished, watching as her eyes widened.

Astoria's pale lips parted, and he couldn't suppress the joy at seeing her cheeks flush so quickly. His hand found hers amongst the sheets, pulling it out, exposing it to the cooler air. "Will you marry me, tomorrow? In the town hall at noon, no parents, six witnesses—that I have chosen—and you can wear whatever you wish..."

Her other hand moved from the sheets, slowly coming out as she pressed it against his head. "Are you feeling  _unwell_? Have you caught my amnesia-inducing cold—"

"Tori," Draco interrupted. "The  _Snitch_  is in your corner..."

* * *

oOo


	14. From The Eyes of Two Goddesses

**From The Eyes of two Goddesses**

* * *

The reflection, Astoria saw of herself, did not impress her as much as she hoped or wished for. If anything, it was disappointing beyond belief, and it irked her to the core. Her cold, pale fingers poked at the bags under her eyes, pulling and tugging them in various directions, as though it would rid them of her face. Staring at herself was a reminder of the unpleasant ride she had been on—and currently still was. Her almost grey skin, the flaking nails, every part of her looked as though it had seen better days.

Having never been someone with confidence, it was usual for Astoria to tear herself apart as though it was someone else. She had done it since she was a child, wondering why she wasn't blonde or angelic like her older sister.

Today, it was much worse. The self-loathing had reached a new peak, and on the day of her wedding nonetheless. She despised how her eyes weren't shimmering like they usually did or how her lips still appeared blue rather than red. None of these things could be corrected my magic—no spell could undo the physical damage the illness was doing to her body. Astoria sunk into the back of the chair, not able to silence the thought:  _why would someone want to marry me, when there are so many prettier women out there, unwed and uncursed._

In the world they all lived in, Astoria was seen as a broken clock. There was no purpose to her, and the parts to fix her weren't available—she was merely broken, and unfixable, even if in her own mind she was powerful. It didn't matter that Astoria was stronger than most, even if her body said otherwise.

When the world around them crumbled in the wake of the Second Wizarding War, it was only then others began to see eye-to-eye with her. Astoria, from a young age, had been the only one to assist the elves—be kind to all students, not just those who had similar blood status to her. There wasn't prejudice in her bones because, in Astoria's eyes, she had no time to be hateful, not when she needed all of her energy to fight. Her mother—while cold and strict—had always instilled love and forgiveness above anything else into both her daughters. Giving second chances were not a weakness, they were not banned in their household; second chances were always available because even her mother knew that not everyone could be perfect all the time.

Astoria was different from Daphne, and while her parents had no favourites, she knew deep down it was still Daphne. It didn't matter if she spent more time on her father's lap, showing him the power she had in her fingertips—Daphne would twirl in the room, and all attention would fall to her. Astoria got attention, yes, but it wasn't for the right reasons, and she suspected her parents began to begrudge her as she grew; after all, Astoria  _needed_ her parents to live, Daphne did not.

None of that matter, Astoria knew that, because today Astoria wouldn't be pushed to the side of expected to blend in. Today she would not be the sidekick to her own story, this afternoon she would marry a prince—her prince; a prince that she did not need or depend on, but who would be her equal.

Astoria's hand rose to her hair, unclipping it free it fell down, frizzy and without life. Letting out a disgruntled sigh, she began to run her fingers through, her head tilting to one side to assess the length. Draco had told her that Daphne would be in attendance, but it didn't seem like he had thought about her getting ready—no women appearing to help her.

Even when they were children, Daphne had always said it would be her greatest honour to get Astoria for her wedding—but now, thinking on it, Astoria didn't know if her sister had genuinely meant that, or had just been kind. No one had ever thought she'd marry—all of them expecting she would pass away alone, with only books around her; if Astoria was honest, she had felt the same.

When all hope had seemed lost, the fireplace in her room suddenly burst into life, and out-stepping her own fairy godmother or in her case—Pansy Parkinson.

"Malfoy informed me that you might need my assistance?" The raven-haired witch said with a smirk.

Astoria half smiled as sighed quietly, dropping her fingers to her lap. "Normally I would—"

"Excellent," Pansy clapped, completely disregarding whatever Astoria had been planning on saying.

The silver bag in Pansy's hand met the floor with a clang, and Astoria watched nervously as the other woman examined her from each angle. It helped that Pansy looked set to go, her hair and makeup impeccable, and Astoria tried to bury the annoyance that she had never quite mastered the beauty charms like her sister and her friends had done.

"Now," Pansy exclaimed, her hands on the side of Astoria's head before she could protest, turning her head to face the mirror square on. " _Simplicity_ —that's what I am thinking. You are far too beautiful to mask with makeup. I don't want to take anything away from your unique features."

Never having before heard her features being described as unique or beautiful, Astoria couldn't help but frown as she met the eyes of the Slytherin in the mirror.

"You seem surprised; I can be nice you know?"

"It's not that," Astoria mumbled before clearing her throat, digging down for the confidence she usually wore with pride. "I've never had my features called  _unique_ , least of all by you."

If she hadn't seen it for herself Astoria wouldn't have believed it happened; watching as a flicker of a smile began to etch over Pansy's lips, and the sight seemed unusual and foreign. This was the same witch who had teased her for talking to herself as she skipped around the garden; the same girl who had whispered to her sister when she passed in the corridors. Pansy Parkinson—the witch who had stood by, pale as a snow, as she writhed on the floor under the Alecto Carrows wand in her fifth year.

Pansy moved to the side of the chair Astoria was upon, allowing herself to be moved freely—as though Astoria was one of Pansy's dolls. She didn't want to extend this out, and she didn't want to have a moment with someone who didn't wish to be here for themselves. Astoria didn't need pity, least of all from Draco's friends.

"I think for so long, Astoria, you've been forced into a shadow that you shouldn't have been in," Pansy said, adding a warm smile. "I, know that I was one of those people to put you there. It may be a little late for me to say this, but it was wrong of me, and I am truly sorry. You are far more beautiful than you think, I really mean that—and Draco may have asked me to be here, but it is honestly my honour to be here, preparing you for a day I don't think anyone expected."

Astoria felt her cheeks beginning to burn, clearing her throat as she bit back a smirk. "If you continue with your compliments, I may have to elope and marry you," she said teasingly, hoping to diffuse the emotional conversation with snark—something Astoria knew Pansy would appreciate.

"Now, wouldn't that be a scandal and sure to put your mother in an early grave," Pansy laughed.

Astoria swallowed the lump in her throat, not wishing for any negativity to dawn down on her day—her special day. But she couldn't ignore the hippogriff in the room; there was no way she would be able to carry the guilt all day without sharing it with someone.

"My mother doesn't know about today," Astoria proudly exclaimed, although she felt anything but under the surface. She straightened her back, widening her shoulders as she fixed her stare in the mirror. "She would not approve, and she would turn it into a circus, and I don't...I cannot have that. Also, I don't think she'd find it in her schedule to attend more than one of her children's weddings anyway."

Astoria blinked back the tears that wished to spill, suddenly noticing the magic Pansy was charming across her face. She began to see how long her lashes were; noticing the way they shaped her eyes. Seeing the sudden pinkness to her cheeks, and the way her face was complemented by highlighting and shading, as though Astoria was a painting being brought to life.

Pansy shuffled before moving behind her once more, her fingers twisting into her hair as she locked eyes with her. "You and Daphne okay?"

"Of course," Astoria smiled truthfully. "We are sisters, not even a disagreement about who we wish to lie with when we are engaged will change that. She will be there, and she has promised Draco she won't spill a bean to our parents." Astoria met Pansy's eyes, softening them as she saw the smile on the witches face. "Nothing elaborate, my dress...it's a plain dinner dress I saw—white, of course, but nothing over the top."

Her long finger pointed to the silk v-necked dress that hung on the door of her dressing room, the cinched waist and mid-length skirt caught in the sunlight from the window. Pansy's eyes raked up and down as Astoria braced for the fashionista's opinion. She didn't know if it mattered to Pansy whether it was Muggle or made by a Wizard, but chose to keep that information to herself—it was a fine purchase from a fine shop in London, it had called to her, just as the Muggle shop had done twice before then.

"It is stunning, beautiful even," Pansy sighed before moving her focus back to Astoria's hair. "He's going to faint."

"I hope not," Astoria chuckled, half relieved she had the thumbs up from another woman. "We only have the hall for thirty minutes; I've heard muggle weddings are quick, but I'm not sure they are that quick."

* * *

The hall they were set to marry in, was ridiculously plain compared to what they were expected to marry in. The benches were a dark wood, looking as though they were last varnished years ago; the walls needed to be painted, mainly to rid them of the stains, and off-white colour they appeared to be. Then there were the doors to the room, the ones thick with dust from years gone by—but still, Astoria wished to walk through them and marry her man.

To some—like her sister and her parents—the place would be called a disgrace, but to Astoria, someone who never had thought this day be possible, it was perfect. After taking a deep breath, she opened the door herself, walking through as the smell of age and old promises hit her.

Astoria's eyes only saw Draco, gleaming and dressed impeccably—as to be expected. She nearly didn't notice the step he was stood on, the one they'd marry on, was so worn out and discoloured; she wished she had a chance to run her wand over the place. Not for her, she didn't care—but for him; Draco who had never agreed to such a minimal day, but had chosen to just for her. The two of them seemed so out of place here, both of them becoming  _new world_  and so young she worried people here would think it was a joke—when it was anything but.

She loved him, as though it was all she could think about. It thumped in her veins; it made her heart beat when it had wanted to give up. Their love, her feelings for him, made her want to fight for another day—something she truly hadn't felt in years.

As the music played, and Astoria took one last look around the place—just as eyes moved to fall on her—she had only one thought: It was simple. To some, it was quirky and unnatural for someone of their blood type—but if she had a dream day, this would be it.

Taking her first step—her borrowed shoes from Pansy meeting the carpet—Astoria heard a gasp leave Draco's lips. She knew it was his, she felt it down into her bones, and she smiled at the feel of his surprise washing over her. It was a gasp she knew she would cling on to for the rest of her days; the sound that spoke more volumes than any other words could say, and that was before she even saw how he looked at her: with pure adoration.

Theo appeared from beside her, clearing his throat and her heart warmed. No words needed to be exchanged, and this it had been a surprise to her, but Astoria knew Theo was here to give her to Draco. She carefully looped her arm through Theo's. Each step Astoria took felt freeing; each step felt like she was on a path to happiness. Even when her eyes glanced down at the front of her  _borrowed_  emerald heels, she made sure to meet Draco's—and his face was a picture she wished she could frame.

It felt like an eternity till they were in front of one another, and when they finally met, it felt like everyone else in the room vanished.

"Nice  _pin_ ," Astoria smirked, as Theo released her arm, presenting her to Draco. Her eyes fixed on the silver, large M pinned to his tie—nearly blinding her as it caught the light. "It's very... _prestigious."_

"Nice  _shoes_ ," Draco smirked, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he took her hand. "It's very... _house unifying_."

She wanted to bite back, but when the officiant cleared his throat, she bit back her insult. Sweeping her eyes over Draco, Astoria tried to fight the grin that wished to appear. She was marrying  _him_ , a handsome and respectable man—who would have thought it? Not  _her_ , not even Daphne or Pansy who were sat on the benches. Least of all her parents, who Astoria was sure still didn't know their engagement was even real.

That was when it hit her, the wave of guilt. Was she wrong to not have them here—even if they were difficult and annoying? Was turning her back on all the traditions so important to her, that she had to take her soon-to-be husband down with her? Astoria's eyes widened, just as the rings were presented in front of them, and a change of decision filled her.

"Give me the other ring," Astoria whispered, before meeting his silver eyes, hardening her expression as he frowned. Her eyes stared at the one he had proposed with—the one she had said she'd be happy with for an eternity—and she realised her own happiness wasn't worth tainting a tradition that was older than her. "I have already taken a wedding from your family, I won't dishonour them anymore by not wearing the wedding jewellery that has been in your family for generations. I know you have it. I know you," Astoria reaffirmed, narrowing her eyes. "I want the Malfoy wedding ring, the one you would have asked your father for."

Draco's lips parted, and Astoria knew she had caught him off guard.

"You,  _Draco Malfoy_ —my husband in two minutes or less—are predictable as anything. So, place your hand in your inside  _hidden_  pocket," her eyes emphasising the word  _hidden_  because she could sense the magic at play, "and give me the ring that will bind me to your family."

Draco swallowed, leaning closer. "It will appear on the tapestry, almost  _immediately_ —"

Astoria smirked, with so much truth and peace because she knew she was doing the right thing—even if it was something she didn't want. "I don't care; I want to be yours—in every sense of the word."

* * *

As soon as Pansy heard,  _you may now kiss the bride_ , her mind snapped. In the blink of an eye, her mind went from  _aw, look at my best friend_ to  _will I ever get married?_  Her eyes glanced at the man beside her, his fingers finding hers as he looped their palms together.

Harry— _Potter_ —had a delightful accident. She, like she always did, had gotten foolishly drunk in annoyance that Weasley had ended their  _fuck buddy_  agreement. Pansy didn't  _want_ Weasley, but she did quite enjoy his dick. It wasn't her fault that Potter had entered the same place, hoping to drown his own spirits—unbeknown she was doing the same. Pansy couldn't be blamed when Potter became Harry in the midst of being beneath his sheets, his thrusts sending her to high-heaven

It had happened overnight, and it hurt, and it went against everything Pansy had believed in. She fell in love—with a man she had once tried to hand over to be killed.

Being Pansy came with difficulties most of the time, especially when one of them was being herself. She didn't help herself, she was argumentative—often for the sake of it—but most of all, she was unwilling to admit that she had feelings for him. To Pansy, she had admitted as such with her actions, and words just weren't necessary. For one, she had met his one-year-old—the product of teenage romance and parents who had no clue what they wanted to do. Pansy had apologised to Ginny, one-on-one in the front garden of Harry's Home, and Pansy had even offered to watch James when Harry had needed to go to work.

She had practically shouted she loved him from the rooftops, spouting the words with fireworks and magic into the sky. But when she had gotten upset over the  _engagement_  that Pansy hadn't been told about—in Harry's eyes, she didn't love him, and everything had been a lie.

It was a moment Pansy being Pansy hurt her more than aided her. Instead of correcting Harry, she grabbed her things—a handful if that—and stormed out of the front door, slamming it behind her. She never went back, even when every part of her wanted too. She never told Draco, not properly, not in detail, when he turned up with ice-cream; how could she put into words that she had been making her way through Gryffindor boys for years? How could she tell Draco, her oldest and  _bestest_  friend, she was in love with a man who had crippled their families?

But she did. And it didn't hurt, and Draco was accepting—well, he was silent and lost for words, but as soon as the hurdle fell, the possibilities began to fly into reach. Pansy could get back with Harry; she could even  _be happy_ with him. And now that she was, why wasn't it enough? Why did she feel  _she needed_  to have marriage and even...children of her own? James was enough—more than enough, especially as he began to babble more and pull at her hair.

None of it mattered, not as Harry swept his thumb over her hand, his grin lighting the place as he watched Draco lead Astoria down the aisle—Pansy wanted to be Pansy Potter, as barbaric as that name sounded. She wanted a family; she wanted to be with him. And when her mind raced with picket fences and children that looked like him, with her wit and snark, Pansy realised she was doomed. Pansy felt her own heart melt, the frost and ice that had latched on over the years of heartache—Harry Potter had made her thaw—a sight no one saw coming, not even Pansy.

"You alright?"

Her head darted up, looking up as those green  _fucking_ eyes looked down at her. "Of course I am, it's a wedding," she replied, colder than she would have liked.

Pansy expected him to snap, to make a comment—still thinking he was the same boy from school. He didn't, he never did. Instead, Harry sighed, pulling her closer and pressing a kiss to her forehead—a sentiment Pansy still had no idea how to process.

"You, Parkinson, are a tricky woman to understand."

Glowering, Pansy met his eyes with a similar boldness to when she had stood outside of his house, needing him to answer his fucking door. Just like he had done then, Harry didn't bend, he didn't weaken or fear her—he was the Chosen  _fucking_ One, he didn't fear Voldemort, and he most definitely didn't fear her. She respected him for it, while simultaneously hating him—because everyone feared her, and she had no idea what to do with Potter because he didn't.

"I assume I've done  _something_ wrong," Harry whispered, and she remained rigid against him. "Either that or you're angry that Astoria has taken those shoes of yours off."

Pansy flipped her head around, finding Astoria holding the green shoes in her hand. "That witch!"

Harry sniggered beside her. "I'd recognise them anywhere, especially when they  _suddenly_ went missing from the bottom of my wardrobe."

"Wear them did you?" she snapped.

She felt him stiffen, and she made sure to soften her eyes as Pansy looked up at him. "Of course not,"

Harry replied all serious and Gryffindor like. "I just thought you were moving your stuff out."

She folded her arms but didn't make any motion to move Harry's arm from around her back. "Not everything is about you, Potter."

"Oh, you are  _most definitely_ pissed at me," Harry chuckled, tightening the grip on her hip.

The two of them watching as Daphne and her soon-to-be husband filtered out of the room behind Blaise and Theo. When the door closed behind the other guests, leaving Pansy alone with Harry, she felt herself become nervous—but not at all sure why. She felt the seriousness of a conversation she wasn't prepared for, slowly descend down on her—like snow in the middle of Spring, unexpected and unsettling.

"By power of deduction—"

"Don't Auror me," Pansy interrupted, moving into him, pressing her back into his chest as she forced herself to not stare at him. "What  _are we_ , Harry?"

He didn't freeze, and from the feel of him, Harry didn't react—not like others would in the similar situation. "Well, I love you—"

"I know that," Pansy interrupted again. "We covered that in the shouting at each other phase when we got back together. But what are we?"

Harry sighed, lowering his chin to the top of her head—and she didn't hate it, although she wanted too. "I guess... _if_  I'm honest—"

"— _bloody Gryffindor—_ " Pansy muttered under her breath.

"—I'd like you to be more than a girlfriend, but not quite someone who wears a ring," Harry said, and she felt herself stiffen. "I didn't  _plan_  on having this conversation stood in a town hall, but I don't think it would be awful if you moved in."

She tensed her jaw. "Oh, well if it isn't  _awful—_ "

Harry tightened his hand on her hip, his fingers tugging lightly at her dress. "Don't start, Pansy. You're the one who has put me on the spot, and if you want to argue, we can argue—I have no qualms with pushing you against one of these dirty,  _filthy_  walls and making you moan my name,"  _fuck_ , Pansy breathed,  _he was so crude at times._ "Because that's what we do, we argue, we fuck, we fall in love all over again. So why not do that in a place we call ours?"

Turning to meet him, feeling his arm skate around her until his hand landed on her bum, Pansy stared up at him. Her heart was beating furiously, nervously—and she didn't want to show him. She didn't want him to have any power over her.

"You want me to move in with you?"

Harry nodded. "I'd like that," his grin spreading out, a far cry from the same man who had said such a thing in such a place. "You make me feel alive, Pansy. I love that you're so…—"

"Honest, beautiful, stunning, the best lay you've ever had."

"Humble," Harry smirked, "I love that you are always so humble." She smirked, and he pressed a kiss to her head. "You don't put me on a pedestal, and you make me do things I would never have done—"

"Yeah, I'm still surprised you hadn't tried that with Ginevra—"

"I didn't mean sexually," Harry laughed, and Pansy placed her hand on his chest, feeling his heart pulsate beneath her palm. "Just everything. I'm vulnerable around you, and before you, that was something I was only like with family. And, it helps that you're beautiful," pressing a kiss to her nose, "stunning," a kiss to her cheek, "honest," a kiss to the other, "and amazing with my son."

Pansy relished when his lips met hers, melting into him like a sucker for romance; curling into his arms, relieved that he held her close and tight.

"I will not pick up socks, even with magic."

Harry laughed. "Deal. I won't help you first thing in the morning because you are a bitch."

Pansy smirked. "You know just what to say, Harry."

Reuniting their lips, her fingers snaking up his stubble as she ran a finger over the arm of his glasses. She felt her body tremble with adrenaline; so excited by the prospect of living with him, spending every night with him. Pansy deepened the kiss, hoping to say everything she wanted to in that precise moment, knowing that none of it would make sense coming from  _her_  lips—everything always sounded so sarcastic.

Their lips parted only when they both heard a sound, suddenly seeing the door creaking open, and their eyes saw a sight they never thought they would. Although Pansy had suspected it would happen.

Blaise, clutching onto someone with as much need as Pansy felt in her heart for the man beside her. Blaise with his lips attached to a pair of light pink ones, not even ones that belonged to Daphne.

Pansy bit down on her lip, wishing to the high heavens that she could take a picture of this to show Draco later. Because there before her was Blaise, arms wrapped around Theo—both of them thinking they were alone, in the town hall, their friend had just gotten married.

* * *

oOo


	15. Styx

**Styx**

* * *

The silence was almost suffocating, and Draco was sure if someone were to drop a pin, it would have echoed around the entire Manor, shattering the ice-cold air around them. He couldn't even meet his father's eye out of fear he would be turned to stone for upsetting his mother, whose eyes he also couldn't meet—although for an entirely different reason. Draco didn't need to read her mind to know she was furious at him, the unbalanced magic twirling around her was enough of an indication that she was a breath away from cursing him.

"You went and got married... _without me_? Without your mother!"

Draco looked innocently into his mother's eyes, hoping and praying the look he had perfected over the year still had some effect on her now. The atmosphere in the room altered, the temperature plunging as though someone had applied a freezing charm; the windows began to rattle, with the wind outside suddenly seeming to pick up speed. This was no coincidence—his mother was doing this.

"How  _could_  you?" Narcissa Malfoy, the only other woman in the world that sparked more fear in him than Astoria. "Nothing to say now then,  _son_? Nothing to announce, hm?"

The way she spat son at him made it seem as though it was a word she'd rather not have tasted in her mouth. Draco moved his sight to the right of him, hoping for some support from his  _new_  wife, but found she was pretending to sip tea and hide her face in her large china cup.  _'Typical bloody woman_ ', Draco sighed, shaking the weight from his shoulders as he turned to stare back into the pits that were his mother's eyes. He hoped not to burn in the fire within them, wishing he could charm the flames to simmer and eventually fade back to the grey they once was—it currently seemed unlikely.

"Mother—"

"Do not  _even dare_  Mother me, Draco  _Lucius_  Malfoy. You have robbed me; you have taken a day that I have been looking forward too since you began breathing!' Her tone was so cold; the words scraped against him like ice. "You have betrayed me, more so than—"

"Narcissa," his father suddenly said, smiling sweetly from the other end of the table—the end of the table that had been  _remarkably_  silent up until this point. "My sweet, my loving wife." Draco noticed his mother hadn't softened. "I understand you are angry, but you are making the windows rattle. Would you be a dear, consider, possibly allowing the boy to speak? He may offer you some.. _.inner peace_."

It had been a while since Draco felt gratitude towards his father, but today seemed to break the cycle. He sent so much appreciation towards his father, Draco was sure roses would begin magically appearing at his feet—somehow caused by accidental magic from stress. While Lucius had saved his skin, he also knew Lucius was instructing him to make his mother feel better  _or_  rather than hoping he would.

"Mother," Draco began just as his mother snorted at his acknowledgement. He began to sigh in desperation before silently trailing off.

It took him a second—a moment—before he had a chance to build the courage again, especially as Astoria still hadn't resurfaced from her cup.

"Mother, I got married. Yes, I am well aware of how hard you would have worked to put a wedding to end all wedding's on for us. But," Draco met Astoria's eyes as she nodded softly for him to continue—suddenly appearing now he was challenging the awkwardness. "We  _did not_  want to exchange  _promises_  in front of a world that still judge us. I wanted us to have a day,  _just us_ , where I didn't feel like I had failed anyone. Where... _I_ could be proud."

It was a  _long-shot_ ; a Slytherin play. But slowly it seemed the anger began to fade from his mother's cheeks. The room began to thaw out, becoming warmer and the windows settled back into their panes, but just to be sure Draco quickly glanced at his father who was practically grinning—he wasn't, he looked stone-faced, but Draco knew that expression well.

Draco carefully held his breath, waiting patiently for either one of them to speak. He needed to find out if he was going to be released from the uncomfortable binds of their hatred or allowed to roam free and eat the tiny triangular sandwiches that the House Elf—that he did not know the name of—had prepared. He watched the frown upon his mother's face slowly begin to fade. The pursed lips slowly appeared and best of all, her eyes began to twinkle with joy and not rage.

It was the clearing of a throat that surprised Draco, his eyes moving to meet the pair of eyes that belonged to his father, whose elbows were now placed upon the table. Lucius had kept his long-blond hair, tied back—of course—and although age was doing a number on him, Draco hardly recognised much difference in him from when he was at school.

"I am proud of you."

It was a phrase Draco had waited his entire life to hear—a phrase that he had hoped would light him with warmth and compassion. But, it didn't. Instead, it just made him shudder, and feel odd.

Lucius dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin. "It was unorthodox. Against everything we know. But, you took the initiative, and you have chosen an excellent wife from a good family and, I am rather proud of you for that."

Draco turned to look at Astoria, and her face said it all as she placed her cup down on the table. Astoria narrowed her eyes, and he watched as her lips parted—and he knew nothing good could come from this"You, are proud of  _him_ , for doing the  _opposite_  of what you wished he would?"

Astoria's words came out past her tongue before she had a chance to think and consider the ramifications. While her face flushed with embarrassment following them, her demeanour and the sharpness in her eyes didn't fade, and Draco felt compelled to hold her hand as he gave it a quick squeeze, to hopefully calm her down.

"Yes," Lucius responded dryly.  _Nothing more_ , nothing less, added to his reply.

Astoria straightened her frame in the chair, her fingers weaving in between Draco's as she held onto him, pushing all the annoyance into her grip. "And  _Narcissa_?" The three pair of eyes moving to the woman who was now as silent as the house. "Are you  _proud_  of your son? Of us?"

Draco didn't need legilimency to read his mother's thoughts—proud was a feeling she was  _most definitely_ not feeling right now. She almost looked as if she was weighing up several options, having an internal battle inside of herself. He knew this from the countless times he had studied her expressions; it had been a favourite past time of his and Theo's as children. They would sit under the large table in the corner of the drawing room and watch as she had tea with other Pureblood families. The two of them guessing who masked their feelings better and attempting to guess what a snarl of the lips meant and why a raised brow at the end of a joke—that he now knew to be about sex—was so funny.

"I am happy if you are happy.  _Both_  of you," was all his mother responded dryly with.

Which translated to,  _'if you ever do something as moronic again you will be strung up by your fingers and left for dead'_.

Draco subconsciously began to rub the end of Astoria's fingers as if they were his own, nodding in a bow to his mother who only smiled, his insides going cold from the stare she was giving that was entirely opposite to her smile. He had suddenly lost his appetite for triangular sandwiches, the nerves having done a number to his stomach.

* * *

Visiting the cottage he used to reside in had been something Draco had been excited about for several days—that was until Pansy came around, her smirk and happiness were enough to light the entire village up for a year. His head had swirled, his brain completely and utterly unsure of how to break down what it was she was saying. It remained that way until the day he had been invited to 'Blaise's' home, even after Astoria's conversation to be 'open-minded' and not a 'Malfoy'.

"What did you two do?"

A sentence that came out from his lips before he had even seated himself in his old armchair, his eyes burning into the man who sat too comfortably in his former home. It was a scene straight out of one of Astoria's comedy programmes, three men in a room as they awkwardly joked about their sex lives and crossed lines that shouldn't be crossed.

It was worsened when Theo looked as though he hadn't left the place since the wedding, almost two weeks ago—the shirt he was in on the back of the sofa that used to be Draco's. He had tried to bottle it in, but Draco was a hot-headed Slytherin who had no qualms with saying it, exactly how it was—no matter who it was too. And to him, this was weird—and he couldn't get his head around it.

"Well," Blaise proudly smiled. "I got talking to my heart, and we both decided to look at some things. Things being Mr Nott here."

Draco's jaw tightened, his eyes stinging in his sockets as he tried to burn a glare so fiery that no words needed to be spoken. The downside to his wish was that Blaise was adept at placing a wall around him, and not seeing the anger of others—even if they stared at him directly in the face. If not for Draco's finger rolling around his new wedding ring, his fist would have met his friend's face for his relaxed attitude.

Theo coughed, signalling notice that he was also there—like Draco hadn't noticed. "I think you should drop the cocky grin, Blaise. Malfoy here is about to haemorrhage over your living room floor," he muttered, and Draco felt his trimmed nails dig into his palm.

"Funny. Hilarious even," Draco spat. Not taking his eyes of Blaise who was currently lording over the sofa. "I told you to think, talk. Not...do  _fucking_  Nott."

"Oh, I like that. Do fucking Nott, Not Nott, Notting Nott," Blaise smirked. "What do you think, lover?"

Draco's eyes narrowed, the vein in his forehead began to throb, and he knew that it was a second away before Theo pointed it out and his rage would build. He only hoped that they would think twice before poking him tonight, the whole  _'do not tickle a sleeping dragon_ ' motto came to mind as he tried to maintain his cool.

"My wedding...was two weeks ago. So how long has this...—"

"This being me  _fucking_  Theo?"

Taking a short breath, Draco grimaced. "Yes," he hissed through his teeth, "that is exactly, what I am referring to. As you well  _fucking_  know."

Blaise nodded, rubbing his chin in that annoyingly vexing way he did. "Six, I think," Blaise said, tilting his head from side-to-side. "Yes, I'm going with six. I think, personally, you're being rather over the top about all of this, we are so cool—"

"No! No, no. Ice cream is  _cool_ , bloody fridges are cool, and even fucking  _cooling spells_ are cool. You, him, not so cool my friend. You're both...you two have been friends for years!"

Blaise rolled his eyes and a new level of rage built.

"Do not bloody roll your eyes at me, Blaise ' _impossible'_ Zabini!"

Blaise's cocky grin faded as he raised his brow at him. "You sound like my mother. No, you sound like  _your_  mother."

For some reason that statement was what halted him, his mind replaying the scene back as he noted himself how  _parent-like_  he did sound. Was  _he_  becoming a parent to him? Was he  _mothering_  Blaise?

Running his fingers up the side of his head before he reached his hair, half tugging on the strands as well as running his fingers past them as Draco attempted to grasp the situation.

_No_ , he suddenly snapped in his head.  _I just care, I care for my two friends. There isn't anything wrong with that._

Draco's eyes were wide. The two men were looking at him as if they were worried. The argument—the one he was having in his mind—was showing,  _badly_. No one could hear what he was thinking, what he was telling himself, but they were just witnessing the facial expressions that came with them.

"I,  _do not_ sound like your mother or even  _fucking_  mine. I simply wish that you would use your brain, and not the organ that wishes it was your brain," Draco snarled bitterly, attempting to look Blaise up and down with disgust before moving to Theo. "I didn't even know you were...into fellow men—"

"Gay, I believe is the word you are looking for, Malfoy," Theo commented, and Draco spun all his anger at him, watching as his friend recoiled.

Draco snarled under his breath. "I thought what Potter did to Pansy was bad—almost twatting his face worthy, but this, you two—keeping this from me. I am not sure I can show you both the same respect."

"So you can restrain yourself against Potter, but your friends?" Blaise said in surprise.

Theo who moved up from the sofa beside Blaise, moving around and seating himself onto the arm of the armchair Draco had somehow sat in himself. "Blaise, you have one of those faces. Even I want to hit you, and you know, I like to do you up the a—"

Draco raised his hand. "Thank you, ever so much, Nott," he said sarcastically. "I mean, the visual, plus the shock horror of all of this...it will be giving me a heart attack, you know, at some point."

Blaise chuckled, and he didn't even cringe as Draco stared at him. "Maybe being less of a dramatic arse would help your heart." Unclenching his fist, Draco tried to follow Astoria's advice and be 'less Malfoy'. "Look, mate, I know all of this  _'shocking behaviour_ ' is coming from a loving place, under all of that coldness and thick-snake skin. But, I've never been entirely straight."

"Wait, you haven't?" Draco asked.

Theo snorted. "Oh my Salazar, Malfoy. He was called  _Bi-_ bini _,_ Bisexual _-Blaise. Zany-_ hole-a-goal _-Zabini_. His sexual prowess hasn't just been with girls. He even had a thing for Long—"

"We don't need to go into that, let the poor man break down one thing at a time," Blaise interrupted, thankfully received by Draco.

Letting the anger disappear from his body, allowing his heart to find a regular rhythm, Draco scanned his eyes from one friend to the other—noticing the exact way they were looking at one another. In a calmer tone, Draco asked, "So is this a serious thing?"

Theo shrugged, and Blaise simply smiled.

"It...is, isn't it?"

Blaise cleared his throat. "Being friends is does work—on occasion. Plus, with you off being King Healer of the year, we've had more time...to ourselves."

Draco sighed, not with a struggle, but with peace. "I...I'm happy for you."

Theo, who wasted no time in slapping him on the back, cheered, as Draco quickly caught a huge grin passing over Blaise's face—the room becoming less tense than when he had entered.

* * *

The two of them were enjoying their late—but the much-needed honeymoon in the South of France. It had taken Draco a while to get things authorised at work, and Astoria had been nothing but patient the entire time. He couldn't help but smile when she got tipsy from cocktails with names he didn't understand. He laughed when Astoria insisted on them delving into the  _see-through_  water surrounding the beach—until they were chased by a strange looking creature back to the sand. Draco fell more in love as they were toe-deep in the sand, spinning together as they danced to some upbeat music from a cabin down the beach from them.

They spent late nights under the stars with their lips on one another. The two woke tangled in sheets with limbs all over the place—Draco abusing the situation to explore parts of her all over again, and again,  _and again_.

Draco walked by her side down the beach with the sun beating down on them; he watched as the sea twinkled in her eyes as she described a future she wished for. He tried to stop the glee in his stomach from bubbling over as they talked and imagined what their children would be like if they were ever to have them. He watched as sadness flushed over her. Her hand was tugging him down to the sand as she pressed herself close to him.

"You know I still can't have children; marriage doesn't change my body hating me."

His hand slowly moved into her beach wave curls. "I know, I do."

Draco wanted to silence her before she got herself upset—this was a time where they wouldn't and shouldn't worry about such things. He wouldn't allow something that didn't mean a great deal to him ruin this break. Not after he had fought for the time off, not after he had gone head-to-head with Granger for the permission to fly out of the UK at the busiest time in their department— _or so she claimed_.

"You still... _don't_ mind?" Astoria whispered, almost nervously.

With every particle in him wanting to reassure her, he smiled and pressed his lips softly to hers. "I have  _you_ , and I only need you."

The sand-conversation was pushed to the back of their minds, the two of them continuing their honeymoon—not bringing up any more talk of things that weren't within their holiday. They continued to hold hands as they walked down cobbled streets, the sun beating down on them; Draco watched as her skin glowed as he began to feel his skin prickle under the heat. He would watch her eyes widen at little cafe's and bookshops—instead of boutiques and jewellery shops. Draco watched with a smile as she read to him in French, her mouth sounding all the more attractive by the minute.

He curled his fingers in hers over white-clothed tables and watched the candle flicker in her eyes as Draco wished they never had to leave, hating the idea that they'd return to nothing but dramas and gossip.

Draco had hated saying goodbye to her when he had risen from the sheets for a shower, her sleepy slumber having come home from their honeymoon. His entire working day spent thinking of her, and if she had come up with another genius idea for a potion that would help others, so they didn't have to suffer with what she had. It had been all she had talked about the day they returned—a wave of intelligence and a need for books and parchment.

When he arrived home, fully expecting their dining room to look something close to an office—everything began to unravel far too fast. The roses in his hand fell the floor, his knees crashing into the floorboards, and with a crack of thunder, someone pulled on the thread that held his life together, and suddenly his world crashed down around him.

He was clutching her hand as she lay peaceful and quiet on the bed, his mother looking at him mixed with worry and discomfort as Mrs Greengrass clung to her daughter. Draco felt hopeless as Healers poked and prodded at his wife of only a few months. He wanted to lie over her, protect her from their investigations and allow her some privacy. Draco needed and fought against placing a ward up around her, shielding her from prying eyes as trainee Healers came in to inspect her— as if she was some attraction.

Draco was adamant, in all his life, he had never tasted such bitter tears; a continuous stream of them that never ended, and he was sure his heart had never hurt this much to beat.

They had been so blissfully happy he was confident he had permanent marks from smiling so wide. They were all a distant memory now—long forgotten as he caressed her cold fingers in his. Astoria had been out of it for some time. He had heard the Healers with-their-under-the-breath comments  _insinuating_  she may never wake. If he was in a more put-together mood, Draco was sure he would have pulled them up on it, but truthfully, he had no strength, and he those same doubts himself. All of his will-power and hope was wrapped up inside the woman that currently lay in the sheets; her power was his power, and she needed more of it to fight—to wake up and slap him for worrying.

It didn't seem fair. Draco hadn't even made enough memories yet or saw how bright her smile could get. He felt so  _fucking_  frustrated, and it made him want to break things just to watch them shatter and become unfixable, just as he felt inside. Draco needed something to be weaker than he currently felt— so that he didn't feel like the biggest loser in the room.

Most of all, Draco wanted her to wake up—he wanted her to tell him off in that tone she always did. He even wanted her to glare at him as if she wanted him to combust, because he'd rather have her here, hating him, than  _not at all._

His whole world was falling apart, and no amount of fixing charms, Muggle glue or even string could hold it together. The food that people brought him tasted bland, the drinks that coated his throat had no flavour, and he merely drank them just to appease those who surrounded him. Draco was utterly empty, completely drained, and horribly cold. The love that had been holding him together felt like it was falling apart, crumbling at the edges, before moving inwards, and making  _even_  his organs tire from fighting—while making breathing so much harder.

If Draco lost her, he was sure it would be the end of him—and he didn't even feel he was being dramatic.

It was something he thought, but Draco knew he didn't need to speak, having seen it written across the faces of friends and family who visited the two of them that week. They didn't want her to just wake for herself, but for him and he wasn't sure if he liked them putting that amount of pressure on someone who wasn't conscious enough to be aware of it.

Astoria Malfoy was more than someone who had made their mark on him, she was his everything and while he was sure that before that week, he wouldn't have admitted that. He would scream it at her now; he would make her feel his throbbing heart, and he'd ask her never to stop fighting, just like she promised.

Draco was not just in love with her; he was indescribably in need of her—those were the words he used when the Healer gave him a look before they told him there was little they could do.

He straightened his shoulders, he became the man she needed him to be and stared the man right in the eyes. "You will do all you  _can,_  to bring my wife, out of whatever place she has gotten lost in. I love her, I  _need_  her, and we have more time than this. This is not it."

The Healer had practically rushed out of the room, and Draco didn't know if it was the tone he used or the tears in his eyes—but he was sure the Healer cried. When he was left alone with her, just the two of them and the darkness.

"Wake up," Draco whispered, clutching her hand as he stroked it between his. "I need you,  _okay_? You win—the  _big-bad Slytherin_  is more in love with you than he is himself."

Draco wasn't sure why he thought that would work, but he held his breath all the same. He thought it would be as it was in the films she showed him, the ones that made the box in her living room flicker. Draco had hoped that if he said something big, that she'd sit up and say it was all a joke, just like they did in the comedies.

But she didn't sit up, she didn't crack a smile, and no one burst into the room shouting,  _'gotcha'_.

Seconds turned to a minute; a minute to five, and as he allowed the breath to seep in and out of his lips, the hope he had suddenly began to fade. Tears started to build in his eyes, the realisation of what he had been running from was dawning on him thick and fast. Then just as he had about to give up, just as he was about to give in, that was when she spoke, that was when she made herself known.

"I need you  _too_."

He wasn't quite sure whether to kiss her or kill her, but he opted to call for the Healers, squeezing her hand with all his might. The warm feeling rushing down his fingers as she began to squeeze back, and he burst into tears as his wife came back to him.

* * *

oOo


	16. Kratos

**Kratos**

* * *

Draco watched as Astoria trailed her fingertips along the window pane; the delicate pads of her fingers busy drawing her thoughts in the condensation, her eyes watching the water fall down to the wood, creating rivers against the glass. There was a longing in her eyes, and Draco knew it was to feel the rain on her skin, but the grey tinge to her was stopping her.

When Astoria had been discharged from  _St. Mungo's_ , it had been a pain—and argument—free experience, to his surprise. It all changed as soon as they stepped through the fireplace, the walls taking a deep breath as her mouth opened and an abundance of words soared out past her lips. Astoria was angry, she was upset—and she was unwilling to see she was weak. Draco had never had to throw his wife over his shoulder, forcefully carrying her to their bed where she melted into the mattress with hatred.

He thought, foolishly, that when she woke she would see reason, but their fight quickly picked up where they had left off. Every minute they were in their home, the argument picked up more volume and more aggression. It began over her  _'imprisonment'_ , and her disagreement with the Healer that she needed to be on bedrest. Astoria, completely unwilling to see that this time had been the worst of her life—and how it took more of her than Astoria could truly part with. Draco tried to reason with her, informing how close to death she had actually been, but none of it was resonating with her. It was as if she was immune to his words, brushing them off instead, choosing instead to fight him on everything—as though his voice and his heart didn't matter.

It hadn't been an initial thought, but after argumentative-Astoria had proven how much of a handful she wanted to be, Draco chose to take some time from work—so much so, he barely saw the point in working there anymore. Her complaints that he was  _'always around_ ' kept him from quitting, although he had mentioned the idea to Granger—briefly. When he began to charm her spare room into a larger space—her bitter stare making his ears burn—as he started to create an office at home.

Draco knew deep down Astoria would love him to stay home, so that they could watch old films and drink awful cups of tea. It was only her pride stopping her from asking him to do that. Her determination to show she wasn't ill, and to show she still had life left in forcing her to continue the parade and arguments. Neither of them would back down, and when his office was set up, he found working from home a joy he had never known—and it helped that it irked Astoria. She couldn't get her own way if he were here, and she couldn't sneak out and climb a tree if he was only a foot from their bedroom.

When it became several weeks since she had come home, her behaviour still stubborn and her health still poor, they had a quiet Christmas. She moaned the tree wasn't up, and he groaned that she was selfish—and when they sat down, eating the dinner his mother's elf had prepared for them, she still didn't look impressed. Draco gave her a collection of fairy tales, and a Muggle notepad with colouring pens, she commented that she felt like a child—and deep down, he tried not to let it hurt him. He watched Astoria's eyes soften when he told her the meaning behind them, that she could draw out her plan to help others, create a to-do list with colours—because magic wasn't a luxury she had right now, not with her health in such a decline.

New Year passed in a blur, the two of them curled up in their bed—Draco having bought the television upstairs, only for her to moan he had placed it at an 'odd angle'. He didn't bite—because Draco knew he couldn't win if he did. Over time, her cough became worse, and her body became even thinner; Draco, watching as he was sure he was losing even more parts of her to their arguments, never to return.

It came a time he needed to call the Healer, and she about threw her ring at his face for betraying her. He paced up and down, down and up, outside their bedroom door—near enough wearing the hallway carpet away. When the Healer left their home, giving him more potions than he knew what to do with as he did, the Healer left behind a disgruntled, crying Astoria in their bed.

She ignored him for several days after that, only choosing to answer him with a grunt or a nod.

Yet today, she was far more forthcoming than Draco expected—which really should have been a warning in itself. He didn't recognise the woman sat on the window sill, her fingers and eyes tracing the droplets. Astoria looked frail and vulnerable as if she had given up and needed a good shake to get her back to normal. Draco  _couldn't_  say anything; there was no point, he didn't want to risk losing more of her than he already had.

Draco, for the first time in his life, felt helpless and weak with her being awake—at reach, but still out of reach, and he didn't know what was worse. These were feelings he wasn't comfortable with, mainly because he had never  _needed_  to be the strong one, it had always been okay for him to be reserved. Astoria needed him, and that wasn't a position he had ever been in before—he had never been required to be a rock for anyone, never mind someone he loved. For most of his life, Draco had been wrapped up and protected, by either his father or his mother, even Severus had attempted to save him—he was out of his depth now, having no prior practice.

If Draco listened carefully, he knew he could hear her whole spirit crying out for him,  _begging_  him to help her—to save her, and bring her back from where she was lost.

He had no idea how to save her, not with all the new rules they had been ordered to follow. They had to ensure that Astoria remained a safe distance away from people with any common illnesses: like colds that were either Muggle or Wizarding. She couldn't go out in the cold, needing to be kept as warm as possible. Food had to be cooked thoroughly, and no raw foods of any kind—or takeaway, which he hadn't thought would bother her until she wailed at the prospect of no Chinese.

" _I didn't even know you ate Chinese food?"_

_Astoria folded her arms. "We ate it last night."_

" _That was chicken balls you said," Draco snarled._

" _From, the Chinese. Ugh."_

If Draco needed a constant reminder of how fragile Astoria was, this was it, and it reminded him every second. Boredom had reached a new peak, and there was nothing he could do to change it—not even a trip to an Art Museum in London was currently safe.  _Nothing_.

"I wish I were normal," Astoria whispered, her eyes following the droplets trickling down the pane of glass. She met his gaze, the pain clear in the depths of her eyes. "I want to be  _alright_ , just for a while."

Draco slowly closed the book on his lap, taking a deep sigh as he looked at her before running his hand through his hair. There was no right answer, and he was so unsure of what to say or do, but he had to give it a go.

"You're normal to me. You'll  _always_  be normal to me, Tori."

Astoria's lips rose into a smile, her gaze moving back to the window. He watched her press her whole palm against the glass, her eyes closing at the contact, and he knew she was allowing the chill to enter her bones.

A sigh left her lips, rich and full of life, as Astoria opened her eyes. "I want a baby."

"No..." Draco said before his mind could stop him. The book fell from his lap as he moved from the bed and it landed with a crack on the wooden flooring. Draco began to cross the room, pausing halfway as he heard her groan. "Tori, you  _could_  die. No—you  _would_  die."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm going to die  _anyway_." Her voice devoid of emotion as her eyes avoided meeting his, and Draco stiffened at her tone—never having heard her talk like that before. In truth, Draco had never seen her lose her faith like this before either, not sure where her it had gone, who or what had stolen it. "What harm is there in leaving a small part of me behind? For you, and for me; they could carry on my love of books and my passion for annoying you, Draco. It would be wonderful."

Draco clutched his chest, the hammering of his heart against his ribcage making him flustered as he tried to breathe in, hoping and needing to calm himself. He could feel the sweat begin to bubble on his brow, while his eyes remained fixed on her in disbelief.

Astoria turned herself so she could meet his gaze, her hair hanging limply. "I want to have  _one_  happy experience. Is that really so much to ask?"

He wanted to bury the selfish thoughts that were rising inside his mind—but he couldn't. They swirled and churned inside of him, until they were trapped on his tongue, his lips parting ready to launch them into the tension-filled air between them. "It is a lot to ask if you're asking me to live without you, that shouldn't be an option, Astoria. Me being alone shouldn't be an option."

"That's  _selfish_."

"Well, you would know," Draco spat bitterly.

She looked at him, disgust clear in her eyes, but she didn't soften them—purposefully punishing him. Astoria knew the look would haunt him after it had past, and he didn't know how to get rid of the image that seemed to be glued to the front of his mind. He also knew he couldn't stop the churning in his stomach; this was non-negotiable.

"Astoria."

She dipped her head, her hair falling to hide her face. "I don't want to die, you know," she murmured.

Draco heard his heart snap, the crack sounding right up, through his ears. Everything within him twinged, caught in the middle of pain and discomfort, throbbing and changing intensity as he watched her. He knew with all his heart and soul she'd fight until she had no fight left, and then fight some, but it didn't mean he wanted to chance it; he didn't want to risk losing her earlier than he had to. If it made him selfish, Draco could accept that, but he didn't want to be guilted into a decision to appease his wife—the one that had almost died.

She sniffed, and he saw a tear fall from her nose to her lap. "I want to live with you until we are old and grey, and you can't hear, and I can't see—"

"Astoria," Draco tried, hoping to cut her off. "Tori—"

He wanted to stop her, to tell her there was no need to explain, and just hold her. Draco didn't want her to overexert herself saying words he already knew—needing instead, to shove the distance between them to the side, wanting to reunite with her in the middle.

"—But I won't be here,  _Draco_. I won't get to an age that is even considered old, by Muggle or Wizard standards. I will die young with too many years left unlived," Astoria cried, her voice cracking. She brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ears, looking up to meet his gaze. "I will always know that I've lived the fullest life because you won't let me live a half-full life. You have shown me more love in the short time we've been together than anyone has ever shown me."

Draco took another step closer, wanting and needing to wrap her in his arms—to wipe the tears that were falling down her cheeks.

"Don't let me live a  _half-life_ , Draco. Don't make me live with regrets," she pleaded. "Don't..." she trailed off as she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "Let me give you a son; let me give you a baby that we will love for all the years I have left. Let me love our child with all the love I have left to give. Let me make them laugh; let me tell them stories that you're too proud to. Let me have something that others take for granted."

It was a hard thing to say no to, especially with those reasons. Draco loved Astoria with everything he had, and the world seemed so much brighter with her around him. He wasn't sure he had laughed as much with anyone; she was so rich in her soul. He adored the ground she walked on; he wanted to give her the flowers that hadn't even bloomed yet. He'd give her anything, but he didn't know if he could give her this.

"Do you know how it feels to be sat around a lunch table, women who  _already_  look down on you, discussing how it feels to love a child—to be there for  _their_  child, and you sit there, not knowing if you will  _ever_ have that feeling?"

Draco swallowed, unsure whether to step closer and hold his wife—possibly stop her from falling to pieces on the window and floor of their bedroom. Her timid sniffs, her pale face, all of it was tugging on his heartstrings; hammering against the feeble wall he was trying to keep erect.

Astoria used her arm to wipe her thick flowing tears. "I can't get a job, Draco. I can't even sit out when it rains—I can't even risk flying without someone thinking I'll shatter. Please,  _please_  don't think the same of me. I can have a child—I can have  _our_  child. Please, can you just believe me? I'd be a good mother; you can see that, can't you?"

He wanted to nod, desperately. Of course, she would be—she'd be the best. It broke him to not immediately say yes, giving her what she and he both wanted. But all of what she had said, it didn't silence the voice in the back of his head that said he'd be an awful father. Her words didn't fill Draco with any hope that when she left, he'd be able to be half the parent she already was.

"You'd make a great dad," Astoria said, reaching her hand out as he slowly laced his fingers in his. He didn't know if his wife was a  _Legilimens_ , or if it was just that he was easy to read. "You, deserve a child just like anyone else. You can make the  _Malfoy_  name great again."

"I don't know how to be a good father," Draco mumbled, too afraid to say it any louder.

Astoria moved away from her place against the window, her pale frame closing the gap between them, as she let go of his hand, cupping his chest and holding his hip. She looked so ghost-like it made him shudder, especially as her cold and wet fingers trailed up his skin as she smiled at his reaction.

"You don't  _need_  to be a good father. You just  _need_  to be a parent; a friend and a disciplinarian," Astoria said, her hand caressing his cheek as she warmed his soul with the way she was looking at him. "The rest, we can figure out as we go."

"I can't lose you," he whispered, swallowing back the tears that were ready to fall.

Astoria looked at him with regret and sorrow in her eyes, her bottom lip trembling. "You'll lose me one day, but it's not today, nor will it be tomorrow."

"A baby will—"

"Shh," she whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. "Assumptions make an  _ass_  out of  _you_  and  _me_."

Draco frowned, and she giggled softly, but somehow still weak. To him, however, it still sounded just as beautiful because it was hers.

"We don't know what it will mean," Astoria added. "We don't know if anything will change, we just have to have faith. The way we have since the day we met."

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy was never a woman to  _'sugar-coa_ t' anything that she thought to be truthful. She rarely even gave a second thought about what she was going to say before she said it. It was this reason why Draco had expected a brash response to his concerns—a cold and uncaring statement before he was given a reassuring more mother-like talking to.

"I'm unsure what you are complaining about, Draco. Your new wife wishes to gift you with the greatest gift a wife can give," his Mother replied dryly.

Her fingers were holding her china cup to her lips, but even Draco noticed the way it shook especially as she took a slow sip of the tea before meeting his gaze. Once upon a time, that look would have chilled him to the core—but now, older and knowing his troubles weren't an overreaction, Draco stood his ground.

He softly, but purposefully, rolled his eyes at his mother—who was practically puffing up in indignation at his woes. The woman, who had all but threw him out of her home after the argument they'd had about him marrying someone, was glaring at him as if he was the biggest disappointment in her life. It hadn't been Draco's initial thought to go to her, but he had little options left available to him. Knowing how his mother had struggled to conceive him, it felt natural and somehow fitting to speak to her and only her.

"What is your  _biggest_  concern?"

Draco had to snort, even though he knew it was rude to do so to his mother. He licked his lips as he placed the small plate down on the garden table, removing the napkin from his lap. It took him a second to find the confidence to meet his mother's watchful glare, but when he did, he held its sight with such feigned confidence.

"I haven't got all day, Draco."

He grasped the confidence, unwilling to let it go as she berated him. "That my wife could die. I think that is the top one. That I'll be left holding a child that killed my wife."

Narcissa sighed in annoyance. "How dramatic of you—"

"How can I possibly love a child that will have killed her, mother? How could I love something that took the love of my life away from me, how?"

Draco felt her hand caress his. He turned his head, watching the blonde in her hair catch the sun as it fell down around her shoulders almost like a halo. Her expression began softening, precisely the way he remembered it had when he had been a child.

"You are just as idiotic as your Father.  _These feelings_ , they're just worries, Draco. I highly doubt someone as intelligent as Astoria would enter a pregnancy, when she could endanger her child with her  _death_ ," Narcissa said, smiling as he held her hand. "If you honestly feel that you cannot do this, then adopt a child, but do not stop Astoria from being a mother."

"She  _isn't_  a mother, Mother."

Narcissa smiled knowingly, tapping his hand in the most patronising way; it forced him to bite the inside of his cheek, just to stop himself from saying anything. "A mother doesn't  _need_  a child of her own to be a mother. Astoria is destined for a child, which is clear as day."

"I'm starting to think that you like her, Mother," he said.

Narcissa smirked—just like the Malfoy she was. "When  _you_  have a child, Draco, you will love anything, and anyone, that makes  _your_  child happy. The smile on their face is enough to destroy any doubts you have."

* * *

Draco appeared in the fireplace, brushing the soot from his clothes when he noticed the flicker of candlelight in the living room. Removing his coat and shoes, he entered the room as quietly as he could to find Astoria curled up on the sofa, a blanket over her body and tucked under her chin—just as she liked it. He was pleased to see her looking her natural colouring, her cheeks pink, and her lips their natural blush. He perched on the arm, leaning over to tuck her feet beneath the blanket when he noticed her move in her sleep.

He was not someone who liked to disturb someone asleep, and usually, when it came to Astoria, her being asleep was both an enjoyable and peaceful experience. Draco wished they could have a quiet and peaceful life, but it wasn't to be. His hand caressed her leg gently, hearing her sighed in contentment as her nose wiggled in a way reminiscent of a rabbit. It took him another second to find himself, before he rubbed her leg through the blanket a little harder.

" _Tori_?" Draco whispered.

Her eyes widened slowly as she took in her surroundings before her gaze finally fell upon him. Her eyes were brightening as if he was the only thing she'd wanted to see.

"You are  _awfully_ cute when you are asleep," he teased as she closed her eyes once more, snuggling down into the cushion. " _Almost_ perfect, but that could be the silence that being asleep brings."

Astoria didn't open her eyes, her lips curling into a smirk. "Teasing a sick woman is a new low,  _even for you_ , Draco."

"Ouch," Draco said. He strummed his fingers along her leg as her hand slid over the blanket to touch his fingers gently. "You awake?"

"I'm  _talking_ , aren't I?"

Draco snorted before purposefully falling from the arm to the sofa, not caring if he crushed her feet when she groaned. "You talk in your sleep,  ** _love_** **."**

"And your point is?"

The words were caught on the tip of his tongue, a heavy silence following her question until her eyes opened. Draco saw it. He wasn't sure how he had missed it before, but now that Draco had seen it, he knew he would never be able to ignore the longing in his wife's eyes that his mother had been hinting at. He saw the strength in her and all of the love that she could give.

That was when Draco imagined what their child would be. It would be a boy; a little blond boy with bright eyes likes Astoria's. He would probably be adventurous and full of self-doubt like his father, but she would always make their son see sense, the way she did with him. He could picture days at the beach; imagine teaching him how to fly and watch as Astoria taught him how to cook. Everything that scared him he suddenly wanted with all he had. Suddenly, he felt the emptiness inside of him from what he would miss out on if they didn't have a child.

"I want a baby," Draco said, as he heard her gasp in surprise. He slowly turned to face her, lifting up her legs gently as he lay down beside her. With the same nature, he lifted her hand to his lips to place a soft kiss on her skin, seeing the happiness in her eyes at what he had said. "I want to have a baby, with you."

* * *

oOo


	17. Ares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely aesthetic on this chapter is made by the beautiful and amazing, bernaheartsyou [bernaheartsyou-blog on tumblr]. Thank you so much lovely, <3

****

**Ares**

* * *

Astoria hated visits to St. Mungo's— _especially_ when they were to sit in front of her Healer Edward's desk. She despised watching as he looked over the parchment that was attached to the clipboard, wanting to know exactly what he was thinking, but he never once showed a speck of a hint.

The two were always sat in silence for several minutes, the worry that consumed her as soon as she entered the office, was eating away at her so much she felt physically sick. The pressure, the unknown and the smell of cleanliness was eating away at her, and the fact she had been waiting for so long added to it, and the whole day was beginning to break her. She wished Draco had been able to come with her; she wanted he would have supported her through this, especially for saying this would be a stressful appointment as it was, one she hadn't been prepared to face alone.

Astoria had  _hoped_  Draco would have wanted to come—but he hadn't. Instead, he muttered on and on about a busy workload, time-off, and his appraisal that was coming up. None of that Astoria cared for, and she especially didn't care that he was sorry.

If the situation weren't as delicate as it was, she would have forced him to come, but in truth, she didn't want to be  _one of those women._  The ones where they'd expect mountains to be moved by the ordinary and everyday man. The Pureblood men who never felt enough—Astoria never wanted that. She especially didn't want to push the discussion further, knowing that before dating her, he had never wanted marriage or children, and so far he had gone back on both of those.

"Miss Greengrass," the Healer said suddenly, bringing her out of her daze.

Astoria smiled politely, finding herself in the unknown. She suddenly felt herself harden, wanting nothing more than to spit fire in the Healers direction. "It is Mrs  _Malfoy_  now, but please continue," she replied coldly, almost chilling the room.

When the Healer sighed, his mouth opening as words began to fall out—words Astoria wanted to grab and shove back down his throat. The room temperature began to fall as her fears being realised as he shook his head, and started to provide  _evidence_  of why it was just importable.

Astoria wasn't an idiot—she had been expecting everything he was saying—but it still pained her more than anything when it was confirmed. It cut against her skin, and it broke her on the inside over and  _over again_ —and she wanted him to stop, needing him to be silent. Her fingers were turning white as she gripped the chair, trying to fight the pain in like she had just been stabbed in the heart. The Healer, unknowingly, had just taken all of her hopes and dreams, turning them into dust, leaving her feeling empty and useless.

Her knuckles began to follow her fingers, her whole hand becoming white as her grip intensified on the arms of the chair she was seated on. It was the only thing that was keeping her from breaking down entirely in front of the Healer. His voice beginning to blur as tears stung her eyes; she moved her hand over to her exposed arm—the only one now gripping the chair—as she began to claw at her skin as a way to shift the pain from her chest, just so she was able to breathe. Every new point he made sliced her a little deeper; each option he snapped in front of her eyes, shaved her down into a stub of nothing.

Eventually, Astoria felt as though she had asked for the impossible when truthfully she knew that not to be true.

"I'm sorry to tell you, Mrs Malfoy, but there is nothing we can do to help you secure a child. Have you looked at—"

Astoria slowly rose to her feet, blinking several times. She knew she could be the Pureblood princess that she was expected to be, and thank him—curtsy even—and leave the office with her head held high. Or she could crumble, she could appear weak and watch him look down at her and ridicule her for it the moment she left his office.

But Astoria knew one choice she had that no one ever saw coming, she could fight—just like she always did.

She straightened herself, her eyes glaring hexes at the man—hoping to cause him just as much pain as he had to her.

"You will be," Astoria said, far more menacing than she had wanted. "I  _will_  have a baby; I will have a child that is my own and you-you will regret not helping me. You will watch me hold my child; you will watch me prove you wrong, once more."

"Mrs Malfoy, your illness—"

"Don't! You. Dare." She snapped, silencing him—completely forgetting her place, but not caring in the slightest.

Astoria had always been kind; she had always accepted her fate, but not now. Not when she had done everything they had asked of her:

She had avoided Quidditch.

She had avoided being stressed—where possible.

She didn't pursue her dream of teaching.

She didn't go near animals.

Astoria didn't even push her luck, being gracious for every bit of help she could be given.

As a result, she had been miserable because being happy was the worst thing she could be. Especially now that this illness wished to take another thing from her—she just couldn't handle it, she wouldn't let it win.

She couldn't accept it; she couldn't.

"Don't you dare tell me that my life expectancy is lower  _because_  I want something that you help people dispose of every single month. Don't you dare talk to me about illness and consequences when you have never walked in my shoes? Have you ever even been told you cannot do something, because of your failing body?  _Have you?_ "

The Healer looked at her, frozen in his chair as sympathy and regret hung in his eyes. "No.  _No_ , I haven't," he said nervously.

The emotions were rising inside of her like a tornado—all set to be unleashed. Astoria's throat constricted as she tried to swallow, tears blurring her vision, but she was determined not to unravel entirely.

Grasping the edge of her dress, needing to cling to something, Astoria raised her chin. "Then please, do not give up on me. I've survived far longer than your predictions, I've proved you wrong on  _numerous_  occasions," she said, tears falling down her cheeks but she didn't wipe them away. Astoria wanted them to stay there, to show her strength and her willingness to be human. "Let me show you that I can prove you wrong. Believe me; I am asking, no, I  _am begging you_ , believe in me, help me. Help me have something that everyone else takes for granted."

It was a final plea—and it was all she had left. She knew how it looked—Purebloods never begged, never wanting to appear weak. Being a Pureblood had never done her much good, it had only ever provided her with the best Healers, none of which had ever helped her. Astoria had done more for herself than they had, she had brewed far better potions, she had researched, and she had poured all her time and strength into hopefully helping others. Astoria never wanted another person to go through what she was—unlike every Healer who she had encountered, none of them wanting to find a way to help her truly.

Her Healer looked down at the paperwork, his fingers brushing over her file as she waited to see what he would say. She imagined her child's eyes, the wonder and happiness on their little face each morning. She could almost hear their giggles; she could see Draco spinning them around as their wild blonde hair became messy. She imagined reading her favourite stories to them, kissing their head as she tucked them in at night.

Astoria's crumbling heart was indeed in this man's hands, and as he slowly looked up. He met her gaze; she felt the organ give another painful beat before it gave way and allowed itself to break.

Cleared his throat, Healer Edward's began to look down—afraid of meeting her eyes once more. "I'm sorry, Mrs Malfoy. There is nothing we can do. We… I  _don't_  support this. Your body cannot withstand childbirth, never mind even carrying a child full-term."

Astoria just nodded, her shaking hand grabbing her handbag tightly as she fought the urge to hex him. There was a billion on the top of her tongue, some she wasn't even sure were real spells. She flung herself out of the door, needing to exit the room quickly as her cheeks became wet with the tears that had fallen. It was only as she sniffed her nose, trying to calm down that she felt familiar arms embrace her, holding her as though pushing her together.

She melted into them as if they were made for her—made for this exact moment. She let him hold her even though she wanted nothing more than to break down. His aftershave was calming her—it filled her with happy memories of their wedding day and jokes in bed.

"You came," Astoria said, sobbing into his robes.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," Draco whispered into her hair, his hand cradling the back of her head.

She looked up to see his grey eyes watching her, and Astoria hoped her eyes conveyed how she felt because she didn't think she could say the words. Astoria wanted him to read her mind—even as horrid as she found that experience—because admitting it would mean she would have to accept it, and she didn't want to.

Draco's expression turned into one of sadness, holding her a little tighter. "They won't help  _us_ , will they?" he said.

Making sure to focus on his use of the word  _'us'_ , allowing the sound of it to surge warmth through her, spreading to the parts of her that were cold. It proved he wanted this, wanted them to have a child—showing he supported this, them, her.

Even with all of that, Astoria didn't warm enough to stop herself from falling—crumbling away into nothing. She was weak, weaker than she had ever been, and for once it had nothing to do with her health, but everything to do with those who were meant to help her.

"No," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I am  _too_  ill for their support."

Draco pulled her tighter against him, and Astoria could feel his heart beating against her. He held her tighter, bringing her so close there was no space between them—as if he wanted them to join as one. "This isn't it, okay? This isn't the only option for us."

"It isn't?" Astoria asked, weeping openly.

She felt his fingers lift her chin up, meeting the warm silver pools she wanted to look into for eternity. The ones that always saved her; the ones that always adored her.

"Tori, I want a baby with  _you_. I want us to have a baby, even if I am scared, even if I lose you...I will make this happen even if I have to carry it myself," Draco half-smiled, brushing her skin.

She held back a giggle, making a small noise in the back of her throat as she smiled; both of them unaware of the Healers walking past staring at them standing in the corridor. Neither of them cared if the world was watching.

"Tori, I promised to give you everything you've ever wanted. I keep my promises. It's all a Malfoy can do, is to keep their promises."

"I know, Draco," she mumbled as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Can you promise to take me home? I really want to cry."

Draco nodded, pressing a kiss to the end of her nose before wiping the last tear from her cheek. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and bringing her against him as though she was all he ever wanted. Even as they hit the foyer, and people raised their brow, Draco still didn't let go—and Astoria was glad, scared that if he did, she would collapse to the ground.

Her mind swirled with emptiness and pain, and as she stuffed her hand into her pocket, she pulled out the leaflet from the Muggle doctor: IVF.

* * *

Pansy had not been happy to be sent to babysit someone—least of all someone who was, as Draco described, ' _sad beyond words_ '. She hoped he had been overreacting—especially when he had been prone to—but when Astoria opened the door, a spoon in her mouth with what looked to be cookie mixture dripping down the side of her mouth, Pansy realised he hadn't been lying, not in the slightest. Pansy looked at her, at a complete loss as to why she hadn't been called sooner, especially when Astoria didn't even have eyebrows on—the most straightforward charm made for witches.

Grimacing as Astoria stepped to the side to allow Pansy in, she tried not to judge the baggy, unattractive grey t-shirt  _and_  tracksuit bottoms hanging off Astoria's already thin frame. Pansy closed the door with finality, accepting that the light of day wouldn't be seen as she tried to paste a sympathetic expression on her lips.

"Astoria," Pansy said, sweetly—hoping to match her smile. "Would you like some company?"

Astoria shrugged, looking as though she was struggling to not combust into tears—Pansy wished she had applied a charm to protect herself, not at all wishing to risque her cashmere jumper to tears. Licking the last remnants of the cookie mixture from her spoon and mouth, before shuffling absently to the kitchen, Pansy glared as the woman turned her back. Whatever this was, an intervention was needed, and alcohol—a pub amount if the shuffling of Astoria's feet was anything to go by. Pansy followed slowly behind her, trying not to turn her nose up at Astoria's unruly hair and the horrid stench she had assumed was also the witch.

The kitchen was something Pansy hadn't expected at all. It was startlingly clean. So clean it looked as though a thousand house elves had hacked at the place with tiny brushes, not even magic. Astoria shuffled behind the island, resting her elbows down as she sighed, and Pansy noticed the various baked goods lining the counters behind the rather sad witch.

There was cupcakes, muffins, cakes, and even pies—a bakeries dream, and all of it was sat here, in the Malfoy's kitchen.

Placing her bag down on the floor, the feet making a clicking sound as they met the stone floor. Pansy wrung her hands, thankful she didn't need to apply a thorough Cleaning Charm like she had suspected when the door first opened.

"Draco," Pansy said softly, feeling Astoria's glare cut right through her as the witch looked up from the raw dough. Clearing her throat, narrowing her own eyes, Pansy met Astoria's stare with all she had. "He…he told me.  _Everything_."

Astoria turned back to the bowl in front of her, sticking the spoon in with determination. "That was  _kind_  of him," she snarled, yanking the spoon out as she stuffed it into her mouth. Pansy tried not to judge, but it was against her better nature, and she knew her lip would be curling, and disgust would be painted across her face—it was just who she was. "It is so," the spoon banging back into the bowl, "kind of him, to tell everyone," Astoria snapped, dragging the dough from the edges into the centre, "how much of a failure I am in being unable to  _bear_  my husband a child. I married such a  _kind_  man."

_Draco is going to fucking pay for this_ ; Pansy hissed to herself as she bit the inside of her mouth.

This situation was  _way_  out of her comfort zone. She wasn't even sure what she could offer Astoria, as her company barely seemed to be enough. Pansy had no idea what this felt like, she had a step-child, technically, and it wasn't as though she had even really thought about children of her own—her body was  _perfect_  for one thing.

If anything, he should have sent Granger—as painful as that was to admit. Granger at least knew how to be comforting, and compassionate, especially in a person's time of need.

Pansy sighed, trying to think of something that would take Astoria's mind off things. "How about we go to the  _pub_?" she suggested, watching as Astoria slowly turned to face her. "We can go and bitch about how kind your husband is…or my favourite, we go, and maybe you can talk to  _someone_  who isn't your spouse," Pansy added, smiling at Astoria. "I know, that we were never best friends, but I am here for you. And darling, cookie dough is not being a good friend to you—do you know how many calories that monstrous  _bitch_  is hammering into your body? A lot. And from the array of treats, I assume you've eaten half of everything you've made."

"I've never been allowed to eat raw food," Astoria mumbled, letting the spoon drop into the bowl before she shoved it away.

Taking a deep breath, Pansy tried to remain kind. "You can eat as much raw food as you like, but not cookie dough. I can take you for sushi or I can take you for bottomless prosecco and cheesecake? I am here for you, Astoria. I'm your friend, and I promise I am here for you—as awful that is for you, I am a terrible human being."

Astoria's eyes sparkled as she met Pansy's gaze, the woman pulled down the t-shirt, biting her bottom lip. "Did he make you say that? Because...I don't  _need_  pity, Pansy." Her tone full of ice, but Pansy knew there was warmth under it—she knew Astoria, she knew the Greengrasses. "As you can see from my state of dress, I am ensuring there is enough self-pity all around me, plenty for this situation, even."

"As if that boy could make me do anything, never mind say something," Pansy teased as Astoria smiled at her sadly. "I can't imagine what you're going through; I don't think I would be holding myself together as well as you are."

"No, I don't think you can," Astoria mumbled, wiping a few stray tears away on the back of her hand. "As if I didn't have enough to contemplate, now being unable to carry a child is another thing I can add to the list I am unable to do."

Pansy took a step closer, putting her hand over the cold hand that belonged to Astoria and squeezing gently. "If it is any consolation, I do not think this is the end for you," she said.

Astoria sniffed, her eyes filling with more unshed tears. "Now you sound like Draco," she said, giggling as she kept the tears at bay.

"Sweet Salazar, help us all!" Pansy said, giggling too. "So, what about that drink. You up for that?" She was pleased when Astoria nodded, and Pansy guided her out of the kitchen to get dressed. "Shall I call your sister? I think Daphne would, maybe, like to not be a complete bitch today, and be your friend."

Pansy heard the witch giggle. "I'd like that Pansy," Astoria replied, just as Pansy was shoving her up the flight of stairs to the landing.

* * *

Draco had nursed his glass of whisky for what felt like an hour—when in fact it had only been a few minutes. He stared at the amber liquid, unsure if he wanted to plunge into it head first or sip on it slowly, all he knew for sure is that he wanted it to soothe him.

Deep down, Draco knew drinking would only alleviate his problems for a little while, and he wasn't sure he could handle knowing everything would still be there the next morning when he woke up. His body felt like he had endured another war, and his heart ached so much he wanted to remove it from his chest and discard it forever. The worst part of his evening was the looks he was receiving from his friends— their eyes staring at him, making him feel anxious.

It wasn't that he didn't want to tell them what was wrong, he just didn't want to admit how much it was affecting him. If Draco accepted for one moment that he was scared—that he was worried—he feared the wall he had been hiding behind for so long, would crumble and he would have nowhere to hide any longer. He couldn't do that to Astoria. She needed him the most, even with all her strength. Even after a war, a trial, a job at the Ministry—where everyone had hated him—and falling in love with a girl who hated him, Draco still couldn't find the courage that Astoria could. He felt lost—more lost than he had ever been—because what was  _right,_  and what he wanted, were two entirely different things.

"We've taken a group vote," Theo said out of nowhere. "You can either tell us what the hell is going on, or Blaise will get his dick out and get us banned from this fine establishment for six weeks at best. It is your choice. I would personally prefer the latter; I am rather amazed at the trouser snake my boyfriend has."

Draco fought hard not to snigger, the events of a six-day drunken binge coming back as he remembered how Blaise had got them banned from one pub for nine weeks with his antics. Their livers had never thanked Blaise enough for it.

"Astoria wants to have a baby," he said, letting the truth out before he could stop it. Draco knew the way he'd said it, made it sound like something he despised—when actually he didn't. The idea of bringing a life into the world only, for another life to be taken, to him, was exactly what he despised—but it was out of his control.

Blaise frowned, taking longer than normal to understand why this was such a bad thing. Theo had already downed the last of his drink and signalled the bartender to arrange unlimited refills, knowing how difficult this evening was going to be. He wasn't sure an evening clogging up his bloodstream with liquor was the best answer, but he was struggling to think of any better alternatives.

Clearing his throat, Blaise said, "And what do you think?"

"I think that I want my wife for the longest time possible. That I spent so many years  _utterly_  alone, until the day she walked into my life. I think that my wife deserves to have a child, she deserves the greatest love story of all," Draco said, struggling to keep his emotions in check. "Having a baby  _could_  kill her. I'd be left with a child that killed the woman I love. But, the fact that Astoria was told she shouldn't have a child, is killing her anyway. So, really the question I have to answer is: will I still love the broken shell that used to be my wife without a child or will I always love the woman who changed my life?"

Theo patted him on the back, for Draco that was enough, because he knew the sentiment behind it. He was a man of few words, unless it was sarcasm, then he would be a mouthpiece. Blaise, however, looked as if he felt the immense pressure that Draco was under himself.

"There's  _surrogacy_?" Blaise offered.

Draco wanted to laugh because that was the first thing he had suggested to Astoria when he had held her in his arms after the Healers had destroyed her hopes and dreams.

"She doesn't want that, though,  _does she_?" Blaise asked.

"No," Draco replied, shaking his head. "She wants to try the Muggle options; she's been doing  _'research'_."

Theo snorted, but when Draco glared at him, he was quick to apologise. "I'm sorry. I think it's idiotic that our world won't help someone who desperately wants to be a mother."

Draco nodded, agreeing entirely with his friend. Even as he did, something niggled at him, annoying him deep in his brain until he remembered exactly what his mother had said, and a cold mist fell over him. The decision was  _never_  his to make, and in some twisted way, he knew deep down that this was the road they were destined to go down. It was why he felt compelled to give Astoria all he had—it was why he felt so complete when he was with her.

"She's  _already_  a mother—just without a child. Which is what makes all of this so much worse," Draco whispered, tapping his fingers on the table, as the bottle of whisky arrived. "I  _have_  to give my wife a baby. My baby, and her baby."

* * *

Astoria's heels clicked against the floor as she walked down the marble corridor, holding her bag tightly as she passed offices with names she didn't know. She had been here before, when they first had begun dating, but as that was over a year ago now, and her mind was preoccupied, the Ministry corridor felt foreign to her. Attempting to suppress the sound of her shoes as she turned the corner, her eyes immediately began to trace the door signs, keeping a lookout for Draco's—hoping only to avoid his.

Last night had been an odd evening, both of them being ushered into their living room by their friends—everyone drunk out of their minds. Astoria had never slept on her sofa, not overnight, but when she had sunk into the cushions—it was all she ever wanted. Draco dropped beside her, their eyes meeting as their hands wove around the others. Their eyes may have been swirling in liquor, but their emotions still showed through.

" _I want to give you a baby."_

" _I want to have your baby," she had said, smiling as her rosy cheeks burned._

_Draco moved closer, brushing her hair behind her ears. "You're the best thing that's ever-hiccup-happened to me."_

_Astoria nuzzled against him, their lips an inch apart. "Wanna have drunk sex until we're sick? I've heard that it doesn't make a baby, but the orgasm is out of this world," the last part coming out in a hissed whisper._

" _I'll have sex with you until a baby is inside of you," Draco chuckled, drunkenly sitting up as he tried to undo his tie, getting it stuck around his eyes, her laughter imprinting on the walls, brightening the house immediately._

Her mind was so lost in last night, Astoria always walked past it—the gold letters spelling out the name of the person she needed desperately to see. Taking a deep breath, shaking out the nerves that were hammering around her body, Astoria clutched the doorknob—feeling her magic tremble with her worries.

Astoria didn't care if the person inside was busy—or if they were having a meeting. This was important—everything Astoria had to say was necessary. The door opening and Astoria's eyes met the persons she felt would be her last hope. The key to solving her problems—or Astoria hoped anyways.

"Astoria?"

Straightening her back, Astoria stepped in. "Miss Granger?" Hermione stood up from her seat behind the oak desk, the one full of neatly piled files. "I need your help," Astoria said as confidently as she could, stepping inside and closing the office door behind her. "I need you to help me get pregnant."

Astoria didn't miss the way Hermione's jaw almost hit the floor in shock.

* * *

oOo


	18. Rhea

**Rhea**

* * *

Draco Malfoy had thought nothing of his colleague summoning him to her office—if anything it was quite reasonable for Granger to boss him around. What he hadn't expected when he opened her office door, was to find his wife sat before Granger, looking like a child who had been caught doing something they shouldn't have. The look, itself, seemed hilarious on Astoria—and he couldn't wait to wind her up about it.

The air was thick, and Granger had her arms folded—so whatever they had discussed had been serious, that much Draco could tell. His wife, however, gave nothing away, and he honestly wondered if the Sorting Hat had made an error in placing her in Ravenclaw.

"Anyone  _care_  to explain?" Draco asked, clapping his hands together.

Both women exchanged looks—both too stubborn to say anything.

"Fine," Draco sighed, "I had a terrible sandwich for lunch—not made by my wife, of course, because she had been just as hungover as myself, that is right, Granger, we were drunk out of our minds last night. Now, the reason the sandwich was so terrible—"

"Your wife wants to have  _IVF_ ," Granger blurted out, her hands clutching at her hairline as she turned her back to both Malfoy's.

He tried not to smirk, cracking Granger was easier than an egg without magic—tell her boring, useless information, and she becomes bursting to tell whoever something they didn't know. It was one of the more admirable things about her, and it had gotten Draco out a lot of conversations he hadn't wanted to be in.

Draco turned to look at Astoria, who was already waiting to meet his stare with one of her own—and he couldn't lie, it was terrifying. "You want too—"

"We both want a child, this is an option we haven't explored," Astoria said, politely but firmly, and Draco had to bite back a snort at her. "Miss Gr—Hermione, has been informing me of some of the risks as she tried to summon you wordlessly. You never told me how talented she was, Draco."

He raised his brow in confusion, watching his wife smirk delightfully.

"We haven't even been trying for that long, Astoria. These channels take time—"

Astoria shuffled in her seat. "We can lie—"

Granger scoffed, gaining the attention of both himself and his wife. He watched her nervously sit in her chair, as Draco softly began to smirk at her discomfort. Clearing his throat, Draco stepped closer to the desk as he walked past Astoria.

"Something you want to say?" Draco asked her, and Granger shook her head. "Your face is turning red, so either you must, or you're having some sort of attack, and I need to send you to St. Mungo's."

Narrowing her eyes at him—a look Draco had come to find complementary, rather than annoying—Granger swallowed back her nerves. "Astoria, you cannot lie to gain a life. It is morally wrong, and I don't think you'd be happy with yourself when all is said and done."

He felt the air chill before he had turned around and saw the face his wife was pulling—the face that meant a storm was about to rip Granger's office open. Draco's hand clutched Astoria's shoulders as she rose, his palm snaking up to her cheek as he forced her eyes to look at him, begging her,  _not now_ — _she didn't deserve it_.

Once, a long time ago, Draco would have happily sat back and watched anyone rip into Hermione Granger, adamant she needed to be taken down a peg or two. Now, having had the chance to get to know her, to understand her—Draco knew she never deserved that, not once. Granger tried as hard as she did because she didn't fit in, and somehow, after experiencing the village before Astoria, he could relate to that—he could understand that. He didn't know Muggle currency; he didn't know what a 'cash point' was—those were things he learnt the hard way, without books, and an education. It made him appreciate how hard it must have been to learn magic, even with books and Professors, because 'cash points' didn't blast out killing curses, wizards and witches did.

"Let go of me," Astoria whispered, her eyes stormy and without tears.

Draco felt Astoria shove at him, pushing him lightly to the side—and he had no strength to fight her, not when he felt how weak she was. Especially when he knew how weak she would be if he did.

Reluctantly, he stepped to the side, and the two women faced one another. Astoria stood, Granger, sat. "You're right," Astoria began, and Draco was sure he popped a vein in surprise. "And that is why I needed to come to you; I needed to hear someone tell me these things, someone who is impartial, but not unkind. You aren't my Healer who treats me like a broken vase; you aren't Draco who is trying to keep me alive. You're a woman, with needs the same as I, and you can relate to me."

Granger rose from her chair, and Draco's eyes were wide, not at all sure what was going off. He felt like he was being pranked, and if Weasley were behind this, he would skin him. The office felt like a parallel universe, and as he stepped back, his body meeting the wall, he took a deep breath as he watched the scene continue to unfold.

"This will happen to you," Granger said softly, "but they take time, and I think you need to take that time. You need to be happy—just as you both once was." Granger began to smile, and Draco caught sight of Astoria's shoulders beginning to shake. "The world has an odd way of gifting things to those who are content."

Draco pulled out a handkerchief with a smile, nodding at Granger—hoping it conveyed gratitude, as he felt Astoria summon the cloth from him. They were always in sync, until they weren't—and he felt it, now that it was pointed out to him.

Astoria turned around, facing him as she continued to wipe her tears. "I feel foolish."

"Don't be," Draco said, moving towards her, placing a hand around her lower back, "we both got lost in pain, but we'll find our way back—just like we did before."

She nodded, and Draco pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Can we go home?"

Draco looked up, meeting Granger's rolling eyes before the witch nodded, and he kissed Astoria's head again, whispering an of course. Making sure she had her bag, Draco led her to the office door—thankful that he was leaving, beginning to consider if he'd be trapped here all day.

"Oh, and Hermione," Astoria said suddenly, Draco's hand on the doorknob. "You, are not just a gifted witch but a woman that I hope—if I were to have a daughter—would take after you. You are the woman that would raise a thousand wands—the woman—I hope in years to come will be the  _Mistress of Magic_. Merlin only knows that we need a woman's touch around here, the men don't know their brains from their  _unmentionables_."

Turning the door handle, opening the door to allow Astoria passage first, Draco cast a look at Granger, watching her look stunned.

"I happen to agree with her," Draco added, walking out with his wife, wearing a small smile on his face.

* * *

Happiness was precisely what the two of them tried to find. Draco, trying to give the two of them a fresh start, began to hunt for a larger house—finding one almost immediately, not far from the village, but with a lot more privacy. Astoria hadn't hated it, instantly falling in love with a large tree in the back garden, and he already had visions of her climbing it.

Upon her instruction, the two of them decorated by hand—Draco taking pity as Astoria's magic began to play up, and she blamed it on the new set of potions she was taking. He had never been a man to ever use his hands, but he had a new appreciation for it when it meant pressing his wife against an undecorated wall, seeing exactly where he could leave his paint-prints.

For months, neither of them dared to bring up the conversation they had shared with Granger in her office. He spent mornings between her legs, leaving no place without a kiss, and he spent evenings marking the place with their love. If Draco was honest, he had never been happier. The summer months giving Astoria rest-bite from her usual symptoms, and the two were able to enjoy garden lunches, visits to museums, and ice-cream along the streets of London.

"Do you know our anniversary is coming up, one whole year?" Astoria smiled, turning over in their bed, the morning sun lighting her face. "How do I put up with you?"

Draco was sure he fell in love again, brushing her hair out of her face. "Because you know that I always have things up my sleeve."

Allowing his thumb to stroke her cheek as her face turning to kiss his palm. "You think we will ever have a baby?"

"I'm sure of it," Draco smiled, wishing he could believe it himself.

Although Astoria may have been utterly broken on the inside when she waved the wand over her stomach, watching it come up clear, the mask she painted on each day never showed it. Her strength came in the form of Draco, who was her rock, and he knew he could never let her down—not ever wanting to be. She always had patience with him, giving him the power to try and be a man he could be proud of—and he knew he had to do the same.

Astoria, who had no outlet for her misery, began a routine of making him breakfast each morning. Each day of the week consisted of something different: waffles, muffins, crepes, and pancakes.

When she began to make excessive amounts, Draco Floo called anyone he knew would be able to eat the large quantity his wife would make. He could never hide the joy he felt when he would come down to breakfast to find Potter and Pansy already arguing over the  _appropriate_  topping for a pancake—or how to butter a muffin correctly. Time—while fragile—was perfect beyond words in moments like these. Astoria may have been without her one wish, but she was content and well, almost truthfully happy.

Her usual monthly check-up came with friction and worries, both of them clutching onto one another as they sat before the Healer, listening to him give them good news—neither able to accept it. To celebrate, Draco took her to watch the sunset, wrapped in blankets with a nice bottle of wine, both of them toasting to their upcoming celebration.

Draco surprised her with a piano she had admired in a Muggle store, and Astoria began to play it immediately. For him, she purchased old alchemy manuscripts, clapping to herself as he stared at her in shock—not at all expecting her to know him so well. His  _hobby_  caused Astoria to stand in long queues for books—ones he was too afraid to collect himself, not wishing to face crowds, quite yet.

They had dinners with his parents, and she bravely ignored the questions, the dismay of his parents at her tolerant ways towards Muggles—things they couldn't get their heads around, even after everything the family had been through.

He found a new love for things he would never have known:  _jazz music, soul music, and street food_. All things Astoria had brought into his life, and if anything, everything horrid seemed in the past, neither of them thinking about it for a second.

"Tomorrow is Saturday."

Draco dropped the manuscript to his lap, frowning at her as she leant over the piano. "Excellent, I am so glad you haven't lost your marbles quite yet."

Astoria stepped up from the bench, holding her nightie that hung around her thighs, slowly lifting the fabric as she moved closer towards him. "I was wondering—"

"Yes," Draco interrupted, throwing the manuscript to the side—not caring for its age or fragility.

She smirked, slowly sinking down with one leg either side of him, the chaise beneath them sinking under the weight. "If we could go to Cornwall."

"Wait, what?" Draco laughed, running his hands up her silky skin. "Cornwall? The disgusting beach place you was on about."

Astoria licked her lips, pressing on his shoulder as she pushed him back, rolling her hips. "Take me to the beach," she purred.

So Draco took her to Cornwall—because, for some reason, Astoria had to see it. The two of them ate cheap ice-cream as the wind blew around them, and she laughed like never before when a  _fucking_  seagull stole his chips.

"Well, you were teasing him," Astoria giggled. "I  _warned_  you."

Draco narrowed his eyes, watching as the sea air blew in her hair—trying not to crack, trying not to smile. "I was not; I was eating my  _fucking_  food, minding my own fucking business. Bloody  _bird_ ," Draco growled.

Her laugh filled the air, her eyes beginning to water, and Draco couldn't help but begin to laugh with her. When her chips fell to the floor, and the birds flocked, Draco yanked her out of the way, forcing them to abandon their food. Draco took her by the hand, walking down the path to the beach, his shoes filling with sand and memories.

Draco vowed after the  _disappointing_  trip to the beach—although Astoria had found the day brilliant—that he would choose the next place. Granger had been an asset in making it happen, and when he kissed her cheek in gratitude, both of them froze in shock.

"I guess we are friends," Granger smirked.

"Ugh," Draco snarled. "Just...ugh," he repeated, smiling as he nodded, clutching the tiny Eiffel Tower Portkey in his hand.

Taking her to Paris—to eat croissants under the stars—was the single best weekend he had ever enjoyed. She had spoken the language fluently, she shopped like a true Malfoy, and she grinned like a woman who was truly happy. Taking Astoria to the Wizarding district, watching the amazement pass over her face, and Draco held his hand out, taking her down the street. The two marvelled at one another, glowing from the love for the city, and the way the city loved them. Draco dressed her in beautiful silk, and when all was said and done, he stripped them from her body as he kissed her skin. They fell into the sheets every night with the music from the street drowning out their moans, and he spent time committing every part of her to his memory—not that he would ever forget her. Not in a million lifetimes.

"We should grow old here," Astoria said, stood on their balcony—wrapped up in the bed sheet he wished desperately to pull from her body. "We can be  _happy_  here."

He wondered if this would be a regular occurrence. Her eyes filled with happiness as the Eiffel Tower flickered in the distance. Draco slipped from the bed, uncaring for modesty as she blushed, her eyes not leaving his naked form. Weaving his arms around her waist, taking in her scent as he kissed her shoulder.

"Is that what you want?" Draco whispered, pressing a kiss to her neck as she ran her fingers through his hair. "Do you want to grow old here?"

Looking over her shoulder at him, meeting his gaze. "I just want to grow old in general."

Their return to the  _'real world'_  was painful. It was horrid and stressful. Draco had been thrown back into work, his workload taking him away from her more or less all the time following the month after their trip to Paris. As Granger got promoted, working directly under Kingsley, Draco went with her.

Astoria had begun to express her disappointment in how life treated her by painting—the  _hobby_  came after seeing some of the street artists in Paris, both of them blown away by their talent. He began to notice an improvement in her demeanour, something about her seemed complete. It had been weeks since Paris, months even, and the holiday glow had never faded from her skin, until the day that she received a letter from her mother inviting her for tea and cake.

"It is like they know I am happy," Astoria snarled as she sighed, wordlessly directed pots and pans to their correct places in the kitchen. "It is like they  _need_  to remind me that I will  _never_  escape them."

Draco said nothing,  _he knew better._

He watched her that morning—her skin tinged with grey and had heard her dash to the en-suite on several occasions. He would have been more worried if not for the knowledge that she had barely slept for a few hours the night before. Draco remembered months ago, when she had been up all night racked with guilt about… _nothing_  and the next day she had thrown up all morning, something to do with potions and sleep.

Placing his hand on their bathroom door, as he sat on the floor. Draco let his fingers graze the wood—wanting to say goodbye, but not wanting her to know that he could hear her. Draco still bore the scar from the last time he had interrupted her—when she was throwing up  _'rainbows'_ , and most definitely not being sick. It was cute that Astoria thought Draco believed her.

Draco left with a heavy-heart, hating every step he took on the marble floor of the Ministry. He tried to busy himself with paperwork as he occasionally glimpsed at the picture of her on his desk, mid-laugh and curls flying around her face—just like a halo. Guilt began to eat at him, not knowing if she was okay; it was all sitting uncomfortably with him, and when he finally decided to leave, to check on her, she arrived with sunshine beaming off her skin.

"Draco," Astoria said, a look on her face that made him go cold. It didn't fade until he slowly saw a smile begin to etch across her lips. " _Paris_  is amazing."

" _What_?"

Astoria moved closer, her eyes sparkling with a brightness he had never seen before as her warm hand touched his cold cheek. " _Paris_...is the  _best_  thing to ever happen to us."

Draco frowned. "If this is you informing me we are moving, we really have to talk about this stuff before you just go ahead and do it, Astoria…" Draco said, raising an eyebrow at her.

Her other hand pressed a piece of parchment into his hand, her eyes flicking down to it as if motioning for him to look. Draco opened it nervously, frowning as his eyes scanned over the words, and soon enough, his mouth fell open and his eyes filled with tears.

" _Paris_  is the best thing to happen to us," she said, grinning, wanting to jump up and down.

" _Paris_ ," Draco repeated before the parchment fell to the floor and he grabbed his wife, spinning her around on the spot.

* * *

Daphne stood in the centre of the ballroom that had once seen so many beautiful parties, and Astoria couldn't help but feel sick at seeing her sister. Her sister—the ever beautiful gem of the family—looked  _oddly_  like a seven-tiered cake. Instead of the beautiful layers of frosting, however, there were  _layers_  of lace and chiffon and other various fabrics that had names Astoria wasn't at all bothered about.

"Admiring what you could have had?" Daphne asked, smiling sweetly, not having any malice in her words.

Astoria began to smile. "Not even if someone paid me to wear that atrocious thing," she muttered.

Daphne glared daggers at her sister playfully, partially pouting as magic swirled around her, pinning her dress up. "How's being a mother to a man-child?"

Astoria narrowed her eyes. "How's preparing to marry a man you don't love?"

"Touche," Daphne snarled. Looking around, Astoria failed to notice their mother—the woman who Astoria had come to chastise. "She isn't here, the woman of the hour."

Rolling her eyes, Astoria folded her arms, letting out a heavy sigh. It was eating her up, and the morning sickness—that had quickly become all-day sickness—was rising in her stomach, churning and making her feel ill.

"You always were a drama Queen, Astoria," Daphne snarled, moving her hips as the pins attacked her.

Astoria smirked as she straightened her shoulders and ran her hands over her protruding stomach. "Consistency," she retorted, playfully smiling at her sister's discomfort.

Daphne looked at her as if she had finally gone mad, there was nothing more glorious to her than that look, and she knew that her sister was attempting to find some humour, some bitter comment that she could say, but as usual, she came up with nothing.

"What are you harping on about now,  _delusional_  one?" Daphne asked.

Astoria moved closer to her, her chocolate brown eyes twinkling dangerously as she stared at her sister. "You said I was a drama queen; I like to remain consistent. I assume that is why no matter what, Daphne, you will always be the slow one—the one that needs everything spelt out for her," Astoria said, delighting in the way Daphne's smile faded. "You do not love that man, and the man you did love, is now in love  _with another man._ You, Daphne, need to find something for yourself, not what mother wants, not what father wants— _what you want_!"

"You have  _no_  idea—"

Shaking her head, Astoria laughed. "I have all the ideas, Daphne. And, you know I'm right because you've gone pale—even after you've spent all summer tanning," Astoria interrupted.

Astoria turned on her heel, admitting defeat that she wouldn't see her mother; her sister glaring daggers at her with her pinned gown set for a wedding day she didn't even deserve. At the last second, she turned to face her sister, "Oh, and Daphne? Congratulations you're going to be an  _Auntie_. I'm passed the date too, so, tell mother, will you. Her baby, is having a  _baby_."

* * *

Harry Potter— _the Chosen One_. The father of  _one_.

His hand began to roll the box in his hands, the one he had been clutching for weeks. Pansy was sleeping soundly beside him, but he hadn't been surprised. The day before, all he had watched her do was chase James around the place, and Harry wasn't sure he had ever been happier.

His son loved her; he _loved her_ —so the next step was  _natural_ , it was  _simple_.

Opening the box, Harry stared down at the ring; he watched the green stone shimmer as the candle flickered beside him—the one she made him light each morning, his nightmares leaving a scent of sweat, "Her nose didn't deserve to smell."

Harry took a deep breath, all set to wake her with a kiss to her bare shoulder, when he looked up, finding her green eyes on him—twinkling and shimmering, the greenest green he had ever seen, including his own.

"Potter?"

"Parkinson," Harry smirked. Her mouth opened and closed, silence swirling around them. "If I had known this would be the thing to silence you, I'd have gotten it out of my drawer weeks ago."

She frowned, deeply—like she always did. " _Weeks_?"

Harry nodded, finding his smile spreading up his face. "You wanna do it?"

"Ugh," she snarled.

"Pans.  _Pansy_ ," Harry said, watching her roll her eyes as he cleared his throat. "Fine, Miss Pansy perfect Parkinson, will you do me the greatest honour of becoming a Potter?"

Pansy looked at him in disbelief, and his heart began to beat. He had faced an evil wizard, he had  _almost_  been killed by a Horcrux, a snake, a professor, and a billion other things. He had died,  _actually died_ —but proposing to her, _and waiting for her answer_ , was the scariest thing he ever did.

"I'm  _pregnant_."

Harry's hand dropped to his lap, his mouth falling open to mirror Pansy's from earlier.

"And yes," she replied, "If you still—"

"Yes," Harry laughed, " _Yes_ , to everything.  _Yes_."

Pansy rolled her eyes, a small tear slipping down her cheek in happiness. " _Fuck_  you're a geek at times,  _Potter_."

* * *

oOo


	19. Eileithyia

**Eileithyia**

* * *

"Weasel," Draco snarled, holding his hand out as Ron slowly shook it.

If not for Potter's insistence, he wouldn't be here—he didn't want to be anywhere other than with Astoria. Ever since they had learnt the news, Astoria had never wanted him more—and he had never been more willing to give himself in any way he could. Some women, he had heard, got cravings, but his wife just ate twice as much—and needed twice as much exercise to burn it off.

"Welcome, to the pregnant-wife club," Ron cheered, raising his hand, causing the entire pub to cheer.

Draco frowned. "All these men got their wives pregnant?"

Potter moved closer, almost whispering in his ear. "No, Ron just has a flair for dramatics and raises his hand to get them to cheer. It's been going off since Charlie opened the place—something to do with Weasley roots."

"A  _Weasley_  owns this place?"

Ron—who had no apparent knowledge of boundaries—clapped Draco on the back, making him almost choke. "The Weasley's are poor no more!"

"Fantastic," Draco said bitterly, rolling his eyes as Potter handed him a pint. "Thanks, Potter."

"Harry, I think if we are going to be Uncle's to each other's children, we should get past school rivalries," Potter said, extending his hand as Draco stared at it—watching him mirror the day they met at Hogwarts. "What'd you say?"

"You're got my sister pregnant."

"I did," Potter smirked. "All thanks to you."

Draco grimaced, taking Potter's hand as he shook it. "Don't ever say that again."

"Fathers!" Ron shouted down both their ears, his beer slopping over the side as Draco raised his brow. "We are gonna be fathers. Ain't it brilliant?"

Theo, who somehow had invited himself along, decided that was the perfect moment to come over—his hands holding a tray of shots. "To you three being fathers, and me," his eyebrow slowly rising as he smirked, "being the uncle your three kids need."

Potter, who had been busy pretending to ignore Ron's cheer, turned his head in shock, his glasses nearly flying off. "Uncle? Really?"

Shrugging, Theo laughed. "Oh Potter, you're hilarious," Theo sarcastically chuckled before deadpanning. "Yes, uncle. I'm good with kids, I'm gay—which automatically means fun—and I'm the only one of you fuckers who hasn't got a pregnant missus at home, ready to take my testicles. So, I'm the all of your kid's uncle, got it? Anyone want to argue, 'cause I have a billion more points?"

Weasley looked pale, Potter had raised his eyebrow in surprise, and Draco was the only one who laughed. He hoped his wife was having far more fun at home.

**oOo**

Astoria looked around the table, each woman unsure whether to dive for a treat or speak first. With it being her home, Astoria knew she  _should_ talk first, but somehow, watching Pansy and Hermione eye-glare one more fun. Taking a cookie from the plate, Astoria slowly took a bite—hoping for a soft, melting piece, but instead, her baking betrayed her, and the cookie crunched,  _loudly._

With the two women's attention falling to her—and Blaise for some unknown reason—Astoria cleared her throat. "So, congratulations are in order?"

"Twelve weeks?" Pansy hissed.

Astoria smirked, shrugging lightly. "I've never had a... _normal_ cycle if that's what you was referring to. It was a  _delightful_ surprise."

Pansy glared. "I meant the fact you have a  _tiny bump._ I'm not even at that stage, but I cannot afford to show."

Hermione scoffed, and Blaise sat back in his chair looking too happy for Astoria's liking. "If you're  _embarrassed,_ you could use a concealement—"

"I am  _not embarrassed."_

Blaise lifted his glass, the only one at the table with alcohol inside. "She's worried her  _designer_  clothes will need to be altered. How  _dare_ a baby overthrow the fashion  _queen!"_

Astoria bit the inside of her mouth, trying to hide the laughter that wished to spill out—Pansy's face looking a concoction of annoyed and guilty.

"Can't you  _charm_  clothing?" Hermione suggested, and Astoria grimaced, having tried to signal for her not to speak. "I assume  _not_  from the daggers beside me, and the pity looks from the hostess."

Shooting her a smile, Astoria dropped her cookie to her plate, taking a deep breath. "Designer silks cannot be adjusted once designed. It's a flaw in the magic of the outfits."

Pansy, who had sunk further into her chair, threw back the cup full of tea before her. "I'm going to get fat."

"Nah, you won't," Hermione tried, politely patting her as she tried to be casual—although everyone in the room knew the Gryffindor was far tenser than she wished to let on.

"Thanks, Hermione," Pansy mumbled as the room held its breath. "Oh  _get over it_ , and Blaise what the fuck are you even doing here? No one invited you! Bloody gasping like you're at a lunch with my mother."

Blaise straightened his back, and Astoria shot Hermione a look as she smirked. " _Actually_ , Parkinson, it is remarkably shocking that you would call this  _fine witch_ —"

"Who's taken—" Hermione added.

"—Who is taken, by her given name, when you've referred to her as—"

Pansy folded her arms. "I know  _what I called her_. Sorry, you know, I can be, well you know," Pansy offered.

Hermione shrugged, her face getting redder—much to Astoria's amusement. "A bit of a bitch?"

Astoria chuckled. "Going in with the big spells, I like pregnant Hermione." Lifting her cup, Astoria stared down at the liquid, trying to find the words she knew she shouldn't say. The moment was joyous, but there would never be a more perfect time. "You know, if something...goes wrong. You all will be there for Draco, won't you?"

Blaise leant forward, trying to take Astoria's hand but she shook his gesture away. It was taking more composure than she expected not to cry— _bloody hormones_  she thought to herself.

"And, hopefully, if all goes well," she tried to say lightheartedly, even if the thought broke her apart, "my child too?"

"We promise," Blaise said, looking around as Hermione nodded and Pansy muttered a yes. "We will all be there, but  _nothing_  will happen."

Having let a tear fall, Astoria wiped the stray from her eye as she painted a smile on her face. "What a bloody  _sad_  celebration, ay? Who invited me?" She laughed, relief filling her as the others laughed with her.

* * *

Guiding the paintbrush over the wood, Draco watched as the paint filled the cracks of the crib that would hold his  _son_. He watched as something ordinary became extraordinary, just from  _his_  hand, and he couldn't stop the smile that graced his face. He hoped with all he had that his wife wouldn't comment on it, for one Draco hated when she was right, and secondly because he was somewhat enjoying not using magic. He looked over at her as she swished her finger through the air, the pages of the levitating book turning before her, before she dropped her hand back onto her round stomach.

Astoria's magic had become erratic—occasionally not working at all. While it acted up, Draco had forced her to be in the same room as him, and since she had forced him to do this—the two of them were trapped in the nursery their child would grow up in. To say Astoria was bored was an understatement, the witch had become increasingly aggravated by everything—including himself.

"I want a scan...of the baby," Astoria said, the book before her slowly descending to lie on her lap.

Astoria was smiling in his direction, as if butter wouldn't melt; Draco knew it did, but it was messy—and it wasn't innocent in the slightest. Placing the paintbrush down in the pot, he raised his eyebrow, wondering why on earth he was tested as often as he was.

She cleared her throat, taking the silence to mean she could continue—when it meant the very opposite. "It is  _harmless_ , and I heard that  _sometimes_  you can make out things like the nose, lips."

Draco sighed, watching as a small playful smile passed over her lips; one that he knew he wouldn't be  _able or allowed to argue with_ , and he  _hated_  it. Instead of answering her, Draco ran a hand over his face carefully, and glancing through his fingers at her as she continued to rub her stomach. If he counted to ten, maybe the pregnancy-amnesia would kick in, and he wouldn't have to answer

"Draco, you  _aren't_  invisible when you do that, you know."

He dropped his hand feigning annoyance at being caught. "Am I not?" Draco teased. " _Damn_."

"Dra-coo," Astoria whined. "I'm serious. They can even tell you what sex the baby is, you get a little image of it, and I just think it will get you excited," Astoria added, changing her tone rapidly.

Draco sighed, hating being stuck between a curse and a hard place. "Tori, I  _am excited_ , I  _promise_. My apprehension is down to you, and your health; not  _our son_ , it is never about our son."

"We don't even know if it's a boy—"

"Trust me,  _it's a boy_ ," Draco said as he grinned. "You, me or we, don't need a scan to know that—"

" _Draco_!" She exclaimed, scowling.

Crossing her arms—just above her bump—as her bottom lip stuck out, and all Draco wished was that someone would take a snapshot of her so that he could show her how ridiculous she looked.

"Wow... _just wow_ ," he said, smirking. "You don't look like a  _spoilt_  brat at all. Let me just Floo Daphne, get her to stand beside you; we can see which one of you looks more like a  _princess_."

Astoria rolled her eyes. "Please continue to tease me; I'm only carrying your child. And I have no idea why you're complaining! I haven't even asked for a lot—"

"You asked me to build the entire nursery by hand, and then you asked me to paint it,  _without magic_! You wanted all those fucking onesies—"

" _We don't know it's a he!_ —"

"— _Imported_  from that ridiculous shop in Paris. Never mind when you made me get out of bed— _at three in the morning_ —to make you porridge because you  _couldn't_  possibly wait," Draco said, almost laughing. "If anything, you've asked for too much,  _Princess_."

"Draco... _please_?"

"Is it really, really that important that we have to go to  _fucking_  Muggle London? Those blasted trousers you make me wear hurt my boys."

She looked down at her swollen stomach. "If you're referring to the well-fitting jeans that make your arse look  _out of this world,_  then yes, you will need to put them on," Astoria smiled, and it grew over her face when he groaned. "I have wanted a baby since I knew what one was; I just want to see him. We waited so long, thinking that we would never be able even to have one - never mind naturally. Let me see him, please. Is it really that bad to do this for me?"

Draco smirked at her use of the word  _'him'_.

"I want to have what so many mothers get without even asking; I want a chance to see my baby. I know that is mainly for Muggle parents but... I have been good, I've been mostly bed-bound... but this, this is important to me."

He rolled his eyes as she grinned, shaking his head as he went to retrieve her coat. "This is the last demand I agree too," he called out. "No, it's not, but pretend for now that it is?" he asked, as Draco watched Astoria nod—both knowing that in an hour, there would be another ridiculous thing he needed to do.

* * *

Blaise watched as Draco finished the white wardrobe; the man who once despised Muggle methods had now built an entire nursery with his bare hands, tongue sticking out during the whole process. Draco would have mentioned something, teased him for watching him be ' _a real man_ ', but the truth was: Draco was struggling.

"Mate," Blaise said, sighing as Draco eyed his handiwork. "I'm tired."

Draco put down the hammer he'd been holding. "Don't I know about it? Do you know that I had your Potter's head in my Floo for thirty-five minutes this morning? My wife, who is: bed bound, hungry, emotional and handy with charms was left waiting for her breakfast—it's like fucking feeding time at the half-giants here." Blaise chuckled as Draco glared, "My wife even sounded like a Hippogriff—I honestly nearly shat myself; had flashbacks of third year.

Blaise tried to bite back his laughter, dipping his head as he traced his fingers over the crib. Draco watched him, seeing so much strength in his friend— awe on his face, as though Blaise was contemplating his future as he stood in the room that would hold Draco's.

"Bloody shades of green," Draco muttered as he looked over his shoulder at him. "As if I give a flying fuc—"

"Language!" Astoria hissed entering the room with Theo, her hand caressing her swollen stomach. "Hello, Blaise," she said, her hand touching his shoulder as she smiled sweetly. "Congratulations, Theo was just filling me in on the suit dilemma."

Draco flipped his head from one friend to the other, waiting for someone— _anyone_ —to fill him in. He fought being the man he was at school—the whining, moaning person who demanded things; but he was impatient, and he didn't like being left out.

"Tell him then," Theo said, grinning. "Zabini will explode in a minute—he hates secrets." Draco bristled under Theo's wink, knowing full well his friend had aimed that particular dig at him.

"We're..." Astoria began to say, twisting from side to side as her hand caressing the child inside of her. His child—their child; the joy Draco felt in his stomach made him want to burst into dance—although he would refrain, for now at least. "We are having a boy. Little boy Malfoy," Astoria grinned as Draco moved closer to her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Blaise—who had crossed the room before Draco had registered—had thrown his arms going around Draco, hugging and holding him so tightly. The moment should have felt weird, but it didn't; the two of them should have felt awkward—but they didn't. If Draco was honest, it felt right; it felt as though they should have done this far sooner—especially after all the two of them had been through. It only became uncomfortable when they let go—realisation washing over them, both noticing the two spectators who were giggling at their expense.

"Will you be the child's godfather?" Draco asked, watching as Blaise's mouth dropped open. "I'm assuming Astoria has asked Nott," his eyes glancing over as his wife nodded, "my boy will be spoilt," Draco said, proudly. "Two Godfather's."

"Hello, fellow Godfather to be," Theo said, grinning at Blaise, suddenly having summoned a tray with four glasses on top. "For the mother to be—non-alcoholic of course. The radiant goddess—and the one who stole the only man I have ever loved," Theo grinned, handing a glass to Astoria. "One for the pain in the arse—who has a fine arse, and who his wife couldn't have gotten fat without," Theo said, smirking as he handed one to Draco before he sent a wink at Astoria.

Astoria giggled as Theo took her hand and kissed it. "Blaise and I also got you a mountain of chocolate, and alcohol-free wine from a Muggle shop—yes, Malfoy, I ventured—and these," Theo winked, pulling out a pair of tiny boots from the bottom of the bag.

Astoria's eyes had welled with tears. "Come here," she said, smiling. She pulled him into a hug and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, both of you, for everything."

* * *

"Any names?" Potter asked, and Draco placed a hand over Astoria's before she shot him a knowing look.

Draco cleared his throat. "Touchy subject," he tried to mutter, feeling Astoria's hand turn under his, her palm pressing against his before she dug her nails in. "And as my wife tries to slice he apart with her nails, she also confirms, it is still a touchy subject."

"Ha.  _Ha_ ," Astoria said sarcastically, rolling her eyes in his direction as Draco let a smirk grace his face. "You guys?"

It was Potter's time to look bashful, especially with Pansy shooting daggers so purposefully into him, Draco knew he wouldn't resurrect this time.

"We chose to make a bet—"

"A stupid bet," Pansy chimed in.

Potter licked his lips as he took a deep breath. "A  _stupid_ , but  _fair_  bet. We told Ginny our news, and our name choices would be based solely on her reaction."

"What?" Draco snorted.

Pansy rolled her eyes, stealing the last bite of Potter's brownie as he glared at his pregnant fiancé.

"It was actually my beautiful, but demented fiancés idea—"

"Keep talking, Potter," Pansy interrupted, her mouth full of brownie, "I can  _make_  this demon hate you. It's half me."

Astoria chuckled, her hand moving over her bump as Draco watched her. He wanted so desperately to tell the other two to  _fuck off_ —leaving him alone, with his wife and child. Every time their son woke, Draco wanted to place his hand on her stomach—it had gotten to the point that Astoria began getting irritated at him for doing so.

" _When_ I do it _, it is to soothe him—so he doesn't crack a rib," she snarled, darting around the kitchen island to avoid him. "When you do it, it's like you're rubbing a bloody lamp—no genie is popping out my hoo-ha, no matter how much you bloody rub it!"_

"Anyways," Potter continued, snapping Draco from traipsing down memory lane. "Pansy bet that Ginny would be upset— _childhood_ romance and newly pregnant missus. I bet that Ginny would be understanding, because after all, she was the one who initially brought up that we didn't work."

Astoria evilly laughed, her eyebrow shooting up as Pansy wordlessly agreed with whatever his wife was thinking. Draco  _had no_  clue. He didn't speak woman, no matter how often Astoria had tried to explain the  _secret_  but not so secret language.

"Ginny was, understanding," Potter smiled, and Draco watched nervously as it spread into a grin—especially as Pansy looked thunderous.

Her eyes narrowed to near skits before she turned to face Draco. "Guess what my fucking child is going to be called?"

Draco let out a sigh. "I have  _no idea—_ "

" _Albus_  for a boy,  _Allie_  for a girl—after  _fucking_  Dumbledore. Dumble- _fucking-_ dore!"

Potter snorted. "He did a lot for me."

Pansy, who had begun to turn red in fury, spun on her seat, her hand knocking over her tea—not caring as it trailed down the table. "Oh, well that's okay then. I mean, he was so bloody fabulous that he rescued you from that cupboard and-and—ugh! Fuck, Potter! You're an idiot."

Astoria who had been suspiciously quiet slowly began to smirk, and Draco watched as her lips began to turn even higher. "Well, you're the one pregnant with his spawn…"

The table went silent, and all Draco wanted to do was scream in laughter. He watched as Pansy's face dropped—having expected support—before Potter's spread into a grin, not having ever thought  _that_ would have come from Astoria's mouth. Hell, if Draco was honest, neither could he.

He didn't wait; he didn't waste a single second of the moment. Draco slid around in his chair, pulling Astoria by the leg—gently—and he kissed her. He felt her grin against his lips, just as he began to beam himself.

"I love you,  _my sassy wife_ ," Draco laughed, brushing the baby hair from her cheek as she blushed. "Fuck, I love you."

"I think you're rubbing off on me," Astoria replied.

Pansy flipped her hair, clearing her throat as she gained Draco's attention, smirking proudly. "It doesn't matter because I get to name the middle name..."

"Oh fuck, what did you pick," Draco groaned.

Pansy softly grinned, beginning to blush. " _Severus_. He may have been an arse to Gryffindors, but, he looked after us. Didn't he? He loved us, even in his weird cape-way of showing it."

Draco smiled truthfully, Astoria's fingers playing with his hand as he felt himself choke up. "He'd like that."

* * *

If Draco had any doubt, he'd married the right girl it vanished as he watched her give birth to their son. Astoria had stayed calm like a champion when her waters broke; she even managed to throw a cushion at him for his poorly timed joke about her urinating on the floor. She was a woman, like no other—just as she had said so on one of their dates.

_"I'm not like other girls," she said with her soft innocence, twirling her hair around her finger one afternoon as they met for coffee._

" _That's the point, Greengrass," he had replied._

Astoria got into the room, clutching his hand, and he braced for the pain. It never came, however, not even as she began to push at the insistence of the Healers. Instead, her fingers over his hand as if she was the one coaxing him through the whole event.

" _You'll be the death of me, Malfoy," she said in a sweet tone as he carried her across the garden, the moonlight above them as they celebrated on the night they found out they were going to have a child. "Taking a girl out into the cold at night."_

_"Do not even pretend that you do not love the thrill, Greenglass," he said as her hands moved around his neck into his hair._

_"I do not like that nickname."_

_"Oh, I know. It makes it all the more thrilling."_

With each  _unenthusiastic_  push, with each deaf defining scream, with each squeeze of his hand, he was sure that his wife was a superwoman for surviving and looking as radiant as ever. She always looked radiant. If she was in pain, she was only showing it with her vocal cords. If anything, Astoria looked healthier than he had ever seen her. She looked  _ready_ , prepared, and excited to meet her child, but he was worrying and bracing for the worst.

Draco Malfoy was not a lucky man, for one, and he wouldn't  _and_  couldn't be blessed with a child and the chance to keep his wife. He couldn't.  _Could he?_ If he was, it meant a change in the winds—it meant he had paid his price, and he was sure, adamant even, that he hadn't.   
  
The room around him kicked into high gear as the sound of screaming echoed, Healers rushed to heal Astoria's wounds. Her head was slumped back on the bed as she kissed his hand, the one that had been cupping her forehead; the other finding her hand, his near broken fingers feeling sore as she squeezed them considerably lighter than she had done before. Draco's eyes, however, were firmly on the tiny boy that had come into the world. The two Healers assigned to him were doing lots of things to him out of sight.

Draco's neck hair was standing on the back of his neck as he tried to see what they were doing and why his son wasn't screaming—just like the books had told him he would. Everything in the room went silent, including his wife. Everyone was holding their breaths, the only movement coming from the two Healers working and waving their wands around the child—the one who wasn't screaming.

The thud of Draco's heart filled his ears, and every joyous moment he had experienced in the near two years of marriage with his wife, flashed before his eyes. Her smile—the one he hoped his son would have—always appeared; her laugh, the one that made their house feel like a home, echoed in his mind.

And then, just as hoped was nearly lost, Draco's son cried.

Their son cried as if everything in the world was wrong and he was trying to tell them. Draco found his own chest hurt, releasing a breath he hadn't known he was holding; the feeling of his heart sowing itself back together—after it temporarily breakage—ached inside of him. His smile, however, was increasing as he realised that he was now a father—a very  _happy_  father.

The Healers turned, facing the two of them with a cream blanket in one of their arms as they grinned from ear-to-ear. Draco could feel his heart in his throat. His eyes were moving down to the small, scrunched up face as his son proved just how large his lungs indeed were. Their son was ready to scream the walls down until the Healer placed the tiny boy down onto Astoria's chest, and the boy calmed instantly from the touch of her skin.

Astoria's hand began to shake as she pulled their son close, holding him without fear of breaking him as she whispered quiet words of love; Draco was busy attempting to compose himself, trying to bite back the tears that wanted to fall. Because this was his son— _he had a son._

"He looks like you," Astoria whispered to him, her eyes full of glittering tears that he knew were happy ones.

"Good for him," Draco said as she chuckled, her fingers running over the blanket as she tried to tuck him in. "He has your eyes, your nose —"

"I bet he has your mouth, and your sarcasm—because he already has your  _ridiculous_  blond hair," Astoria teased just as Draco kissed her forehead. He was slowly curling himself around her, placing his head close to her shoulder as he stared at the child against her skin.

"He'll have your kindness, your  _ridiculous_  humour," Draco said, smiling as he looked at the two of them. "Please don't tell him that joke about the ham sandwich that walks into a bar."

Astoria licked her dry lips as she looked up at him. "I am  _funny_."

" _Hilarious_ ," he teased. "I can't thank you enough; you have given me another great thing. The best thing that I didn't even know that I needed."

"You should  _trust_  me more," she said, giggling, her hand rubbing the back of the blanket. Both their eyes were on the child as he nestled his head closer to her touch. Draco's hand reached out to touch him as his fingers hovered in the air before gently stroking the child's hand. The warmth radiating from him was surprising, his small hand soft to the touch.

"What are we going to call him?"

He caught her rolling her eyes, flicking her in the hand for it as she scowled before grinning. "How about you name him...I'll name the next one—" she said.

"The next... _Tori,_  you just had him."

"Yeah, well, it's not fair to leave him without any siblings," she cooed. "Who will he play with? You know he's the cutest child, no one will be friends with him because he's so handsome! Look at him."

Staring at her in disbelief, wanting to remind her how much trouble this pregnancy had been—never mind to consider another.

"I'm looking."

"Then tell him that he can't have a brother or a little sister," Astoria cooed in a sickeningly cute voice. "Tell him—"

"Tori," he softly warned, his eyes on her as she relaxed slightly. "I've made so many mistakes, so many times I've pushed my luck, but not with you—not again. I will not lose you to greed–"

"But—"

"But nothing...Tori,  _we have a son_. A real,  _alive,_  and breathing son."

"I know."

"Can that not just be enough?" Draco asked as he ran a hand through her damp hair. "Please? At least for now, let me enjoy having you here when I thought I would not. Let me enjoy a son I never knew I needed. For now..."

"Okay..." she said, her head tilting as he kissed her lips, his hand stroking her cheek as he did so. "And his name is Scorpius; you liked that name, didn't you?"

Taken back by it, her hatred for it had been one cause for her bed-bound nature,  _'overexertion due to hate'_  she had called it. They had discussed names in the hope they'd agree, but after Draco had suggested only that one name, Astoria had used magic to throw a vase at him for being, in her words, ' _a bonafide idiot who wishes their child to get bullied'_.

Knowing she had chosen it in spite of all of that, Draco felt an immense amount of happiness and Draco simply nodded in appreciation—unsure if he could formulate the right words to show her how much it meant to him.

When she slowly smiled, Draco placed his hand under their son's head. " _Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy_ ," she said, proudly.

"After your Grandfather?" he asked as she looked at him tearfully. "He'd be proud of you."

Astoria looked at him with nothing but completeness, as if all the parts of her that had been broken, were fixed right in front of his eyes. He'd fight to the death before he would let either of these people go because now that he had a family to love and cherish, he wasn't sure he could ever live without them.

"I love you,  _Tori_."

"I love you more, Draco. But not more than him," Astoria smiled, moving her attention back to their son. "He had truly stolen my heart, and completed me all at once."

Draco felt the exact same, fighting tears of happiness. He knew that in a second he'd have to invite the parents in, so Draco cherished this moment—wanting a few more minutes as a family of three. "I love you, Scorpius. My son," he breathed out, a tear from each eye falling to his cheeks.

* * *

oOo


	20. Et Postquam Semper - Part One

**Et Postquam Semper  
Part One**

* * *

"Is it  _even_  worth me asking?"

Astoria glanced down at him from the tree, a knife in her hand. Her long legs were dangling from the branch as her toes wiggled in the wind. Her hair was braided down her back, a personal favourite of his, and she sported a grin that spread happiness through his body.

"If you fall—"

Her eyes broke from the bark, meeting his as she raised one to look at him questioningly. "Firstly I'm not a  _novice_  at tree climbing—I'm offended that you think that I would be, especially with the number of times you've seen me up here. Secondly, you are right underneath, so unless you'd just watch me fall, hopefully, you would catch me—I am your wife after all, but if you didn't, you'd break my fall. Thirdly, I got up here, with a knife. If anything you should be more worried about the knife, and your beautiful neck."

"Ah yes," Draco smirked. "My adorable  _tree_  wife."

"I'd comment that I'm offended, but, I do really,  _really_  like this tree."

He shook his head, placing his hands in his pocket as he gazed back up at her. Her head turned from him as he heard the scratching of the bark on the tree again.

"Astoria?"

"Yes?" She replied not looking down at him.

"What are  _you_  doing?"

Her arm paused in its motion, lowering it slowly before she turned to meet his gaze. "You aren't a stupid man."

"Thank you," Draco said sarcastically.

"What I mean is, you know—I know you do. This whole, let's 'do what I want when I want thing' is because you know," Astoria said as she swung her legs. "I do not mind that you do. But, I'm preserving us, a memory or so to speak. Just when it's all too much; you can climb up here at eighty and look at our carved initials—when I'm not here."

"This is from some ridiculous book isn't it?"

Smiling sweetly, Astoria let out a sigh. "I just want you to have memories of me."

"Tori, you are  _my wife_ ," Draco smiled, taking hold of her ankle gently. "I think I will struggle to forget you. Plus...you  _are_  a little crazy, which will make it hard for me even to  _try and forget._ "

"I'm going to haunt you; you know that right?"

Draco smiled, holding his other hand out for hers. "Wouldn't be you if you didn't."

"I'm  _serious_ ," she said sharply.

"So am I. If you don't, I will be  _profoundly_  offended."

She blushed. "Life's cruel to the best people—something about God picking the prettiest flowers."

"Firstly," he began, mirroring her from earlier, "you hang around with Granger too much. Secondly, you know I can't be mad at him for that can I?" Stroking her lower leg, Draco looked up at her innocently, "Can you come down now, I am missing my  _grass wife_."

She shot him a look as she swung her leg over the branch, his eyebrow raising as she smirked. He held out his arms begrudgingly as she fell from the tree into his arms, the two of them tumbling to the grass and leaves below.

Draco's hand brushed her hair from her face; a laugh etched across her face as silent laughter emerged from her lips. "You are crazy."

"All the best ones are love," she murmured before pulling him down on top of her. "C'mon, before the baby wakes."

* * *

Draco wandered across a scene that made him smile greater than it had done the first time. His wife, wrapped in a bed sheet, twirling her wand in her hand as her hair transfigured into tight curls. She was so talented, producing so much beauty with her wand—especially in more recent years with her hair and make-up, not that she ever needed a lot. He admired, as he had before from the shadows of their bedroom, noticing the gold embellishments that adorned her makeshift dress. Draco spotted the adjustments of the sheet to fit her body far better than the wedding dress she had attempted to make; a gold belt wrapped around her small waist as her fingers finished adjusting before she stared at her reflection. A frown appearing on her youthful face.

Draco didn't dare question it this time—knowing he would never understand how this perfect, brilliant woman wanted to be in his life. How she fought every day to keep breathing, even when she was in bed—wrapped up in blankets, and still insisting on singing her son to sleep.

Watching as she decorated her lips with her wand, gold applying over her plump lips before she stood back and smiled. Her fingers straightening out the dress she had, and Draco didn't interrupt, not this time—not knowing how many times he had in his lifetime of seeing her so wrapped in her own world.

It was something he loved about Astoria more than anything; the way she got caught up in her own universe, often forgetting about the life around her. She took the smallest pleasures in the little things, often reminding him of how blessed he was—and Draco needed that, he needed to be reigned in on so many occasions. Her imagination was second to none, only growing when Scorpius was born. Draco would hear her create stories straight from the top of her mind.

"Mummy,  _mummy_!"

Draco had only just pulled his foot back in before his four-year-old bundled in. Scorpius' hair a much darker shade than normal, a white t-shirt with a distressed brown leather tunic with gold trim detailing similar to his mother's. Draco noticing the blue cape clipped to the back, a large M written in gold.

Waving the sword and a shield in his hands, Scorpius stood at the base of Draco's bed, looking up at Astoria. "Mummy!"

"Oh,  _my little soldier_ , how handsome are you?" Astoria grinned, her fingers touching his cheek as Draco stood and smiled at the seemingly innocent scenario before him just as he caught her eyes spotting him. "And look, Daddy is home—even if he has been stood watching mummy for quite a few minutes."

"Yes!" Scorpius cheered, a mischievous grin on his lips as Draco's insides suddenly froze.

"Daddy..." Astoria said with the same wicked smile. "Your  _outfit_  is in the bathroom."

_'Oh! Fuck. Halloween,_ ' Draco hissed to himself, trying to place a smile on his face as he stepped into the bedroom.  _'How could I have forgotten again?'_

Draco nodded, trying to keep up the pretence that he was happy, as he walked into the bathroom only to find a much bigger version of what his son was wearing. He snarled to himself as his fingers ran over it, unsure what to make of this  _improvement_  compared to last years. He pondered whether he loved his son and wife enough to make an embarrassment of himself again when he heard the door click, and the scent of Astoria's perfume hit his nostrils.

Looking up at her, meeting her eyes in the mirror, Draco found her smile—the one that melted his anger on sight. Every day with her was a new adventure, and he wasn't ready to give them up—not now, not ever. Astoria carefully walked over, wrapping her arms around him as he moved into her touch—her front to his back.

"I know that Halloween is not for you," she whispered adoringly. "But, I managed to convince Scorp that we could go as  _Greek's_. Rather than a wizard story, he's gripped on at the moment."

" _Potter_ ," Draco hissed under his breath, hearing her chuckle against his neck.

Astoria lightly pressed a kiss to his skin, feeling a shudder run down his spine. " _Precisely_. Now, if you're a  _good_  soldier, you will find your reward  _amongst the bedsheet."_  
  
Draco looked at her in the mirror, a playful smirk across both of their faces as he felt her hand in his. "I do not deserve you."

"That much is  _probably_ true," Astoria said sweetly. "But you're stuck with me anyways...so, get changed. I'd like to try and get our son to bed before midnight."

He sighed, shaking his head at whatever uncertainty tonight would bring. Draco half-wished he had a mask—just as he had done the year before—at least then he wouldn't find as many would stare.

" _Draco_!"

"Coming, love," smiling to himself as he took one last look at how ridiculous he looked. "Fuckin' Potter," he muttered, clipping the cape to his shoulder.

* * *

Sighing heavily as Astoria climbed into the sheets, she noticed his interest peak as she covered her face with her hands—and she hated him a little for it. The first sign of trouble, and Draco would mysteriously hide—he hated being the bad guy, the one who shouted at their son.

"It's not a big deal."

" _Draco_ , he levitated a vase and smashed it," Astoria said flatly. "It is that bad."

Chuckling, he rolled over to face her. "I wish to reassure you that as a child, I was far worse."

Astoria rolled her eyes. "Strangely, I do not doubt that."

She heard him close his book, the sound of him settling it on the nightstand going through her. Astoria didn't want to be comforted or pacified; she wanted to be upset—with both Draco and her son. The sheets sounded as he moved closer to her, and Astoria despised how her body betrayed her, curling into him as his soft fingers peeled her hands from her face as she looked at him.

"He was upset—"

"Because he didn't get his way, which,  _he won't do_. Because he's a child," Astoria groaned.

"Accidental magic is  _common_ , that is why it's called ' _accidental',_ and why we don't have Potter banging on the door complaining about it _._ "

Astoria snorted because this was coming from the same man who had found it indecent that his son crayoned over his new  _declaration_. The same man who had been amazed, and disgusted to see his new loafers in the toilet basin when Scorpius had begun walking.

"You are terribly  _blasé_  about this whole thing," she said as he shrugged his shoulders. "So much so, I'm beginning to become concerned as to what your first  _'accidental'_  magic was."

"It wasn't a big deal," Draco's lips curling up. "I set my mother's garden on fire."

"You did what?"

"I burnt the garden—rose bushes, petunias, the lavender bush, the lot. Poof, up in flames," Draco said, before beginning to snigger. "I can see it now, my mother's arm flapping in sheer panic as she tried to find her wand, cursing me, cursing father...he told me he was rather proud of me that night."

"Draco!" She scolded.

" _What_? The woman wouldn't let me play in it, so curiosity rose and then she wouldn't allow me to ride my broom. I was in the garden, and I could hear her telling my father that the 'bloody broom needed to go', and  _whoosh_ , her garden met flames," Draco smirked as Astoria remained open-mouthed. "Come on Tori; it is  _rather_  hilarious."

"I can see where our son gets his lack of respect for others property now; I should be thankful that he's not a pyrotechnic."

Draco took her hand gently. "I think you may be overreacting—"

"And I believe you are  _under_ -reacting."

"What was yours then? What did you do that was so  _prim and proper_ ," the smirk on his ridiculous face was irritating her more than his revelation.

Sighing through her nose, knowing full well he was about to laugh or tease her—and she was not in the mood. Not for him, not for his face, and most probably not for the 'usual' way he cheered her up. "I changed a photo of my parents into black and white. There, okay?"

"Wow," he laughed rolling into his back. "Just...wow."

"What?" Astoria snapped.

"Well, no wonder you're so shocked at our son's abilities—you were a bleeding boring witch, weren't you? What was Daphne's?"

Astoria frowned deeply. "Just because I didn't cause vandalism," Astoria snarled, hating how he continued to snigger. "It doesn't matter; you didn't need to  _cheer_  him on."

"My son did magic, why is that not something to be proud of!"

"Because he obliterated a vase, an  _expensive_  vase that was a present from  _your_  mother."

She didn't want to admit that the real reason she was mad was that it would be her that would have to tell Narcissa. Draco would make himself absent—and Narcissa would never be mad at Scorpius. Which left Astoria, the one who always faced the brunt.

Draco slowly began to smirk, and as terrible as he was at hiding it, Astoria had already begun to read his mind. "Oh my  _Salazar_ , you hated the vase!"

"Well, it didn't fit with our dining room, did it? Thank the  _stars_  for Scorpius—"

" _Our_  theme?" Astoria spat in shock. "My freaking dining room—that can I add you teased me for. I think the words you said were 'weak' and 'dull' when I showed it to you."

"Well," Draco smirked. "It grew on me."

"Warts will grow on you in a minute," Astoria snarled as he mockingly laughed. "Stop laughing at me."

"Stop being  _oddly_  hilarious," he said as she threw her pillow at him, rolling on her side as she continued to hear him snigger.

* * *

"But what if I'm not good enough?"

The words hung in the air between the two of them. It was such a simple worry—even if it appeared silly—but it had so much meaning behind it, and Draco knew at Scorpius' age he had shared a similar fear.

"Then you'll try again, and again  _and again_  if you have too. Once you've finished school you don't stop trying, every day you have to try, and every day you may meet someone who thinks you aren't good enough. I still have to work every day, some days are easy, and some days are not. I don't get everything I want, I am not good at everything, and therefore I have to practise, and become better. It isn't any different when you grow up."

Scorpius sighed as he fell back against the pillows behind him. Draco let him remain like that for a second before taking his arm in his hand and pulling him to a seated position, a casual smile falling over his lips. His son was such a mixture of both himself and Astoria; he never knew who he'd get the next day.

"This, Scorpius, is not the  _be all and end all_  of life. This is the beginning. Your childhood, that was playtime, that was preparation, and this  _now_ —this is life you are embarking on. It's okay to have worries, they are normal," Draco said, "but don't let them hold you back."

Scorpius groaned. "And what if I want to you know, get off the ship called life?"

Draco sighed as he observed the large grey orbs fixed on him. "I know you don't want to Scorpius; you're just scared. Like those people in your books."

The boy shrugged his shoulders as he sighed heavily, his grip was still gentle on the boy's arms as he rolled his thumb over his skin. "Frodo wasn't scared—but if he was, he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. I just have a name."

"I will tell you something I wish my father had said to me. But it's a secret, okay?" The child's eyes widened with a burst of excitement. Draco moved closer to his son, even though they were both alone. "It is okay to be scared; you don't have to be strong and brave all the time just because of who you are. The most  _courageous_  man I knew was scared a lot, and I am telling you that it's okay to be scared. Not many will, many will want to tease you for it. However, I tend to find that those people are the most scared."

"I wouldn't be less of a Malfoy, would I? If I  _was_  scared?"

Although a smile appeared on the Draco's lips, it was only hiding the pain he felt inside as his heart shattered—the mirrored feelings he had thought as a child, now being felt by his son.

"No Scorpius you wouldn't. I think you may be the bravest Malfoy regardless," he said reassuringly. "It takes a bold man to admit when he's scared, wear it with pride, honestly."

"Mum says that you're brave too."

Draco moved his hold down to his son's hand, feeling the smallness of his fingers against his. Wondering when they'd be the same size, and if they would be larger or equal. Pondering whether they'd sit on the bed and talk like this when he was much older, or if like himself he would barely utter words to his father. Draco hoped he was better than Lucius—not for the sake of it, but for Scorpius sake.

"Your mum makes being brave rather easy," Draco said as he stared adoringly at his son. "You take after her in that way."

Silence crept between the pair, calm and peaceful. Draco slowly saw a look in his son's eye that only meant that a difficult question was about to be mentioned, and Draco braced himself—knowing that he'd never be as prepared as he'd like for the intelligent child's questions.

"Is Mum going to be okay?"

"Of course," Draco lied through his teeth, not wanting to go further into Astoria's declining health—not yet. She had come back from worse—and she had fought so much already. "She'll be there for your  _first_  Quidditch game because you're good enough and you'll make the team, and because your mother is fine."

The boy's cheeks flushed as the father felt himself smile at the reaction.

"You're a fantastic flyer, you're an amazing son Scorpius and most of all you're an amazing person, inside and out. If you don't make it, it's only because the world has bigger plans for you. I happen to think you'll be too busy for tryouts; you'll be busy making your way through the library."

Scorpius smiled, wrapping his arms around Draco's neck, as they both tried to refrain from getting too emotional. He couldn't remember the last time his son had hugged him. He had been too busy being an eleven-year-old, and the assumption that his father was uncool, creeping in.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Anytime Son. I'm always here."

"I know, I love you for it."

Draco tightened his grip on his son's back as he kissed the top of his head. "I love you too."

* * *

When Draco finally exited from the bedroom, having tucked his son into his bed for the final time before he would go for his first year at Hogwarts, he paused at the closed door. Memories of his many first's hitting him from every angle: the  _first tooth, first laugh, the first word_.

Although too late to do anything to halt it in its place, Draco wanted to pause time, and hold on to his son, keeping him here at this present moment a little longer. He wanted to spend the limited period the three of them had together,  _together_. He wanted more memories and more firsts, even if there were so few left. He wished they had been able to go out more, not having seen the Potter's in years—Astoria's health keeping them home instead.

Draco had begun working part-time, and with Granger's rise to assistant Mistress for Magic, he had barely seen her—although he hadn't missed how frequent Weasley hadn't been seen at her side at events. Time had slipped past so quickly, and the three of them—other than the visits from Narcissa and Astoria's father—had spent the years alone.

"Is he okay?" A sweet voice said behind him, his head turning to see the pale, beautiful woman stood before him.

A worried look was pressed across her face, as her eyes sparkled. Draco was unsure if it was tears or fears that were causing them, but he could see Astoria was beginning to fall apart. Her hair was hanging loosely around her shoulders, and he couldn't remember the last time he saw her so unmade. It didn't matter how many times he told her that her beauty was more than makeup and beautiful clothes, but she looked unwell—worse than she had ever been.

"He's okay, just... _nervous_  I guess."

"We've all been there," Astoria said, trying to smile as he opened his arms for her to move into. The feel of her cold body against his warmth unsettled him, and immediately Draco felt compelled to suffocate her with his body so that she'd be better. "It's okay also to be scared,  _Draco_."

Draco didn't want to look at her—not wanting to face that reality just yet. Keeping his eyes fixed in front as he rested his chin against her head, he felt Astoria's hands moved across his hips.

"I'm scared too," she whispered against him, "I feel like I am scared all the time these days. I'm scared for myself and for my two boys and… _I don't want to go._ "

_Then don't he wanted to say. Don't leave_ me _, us. Him.  
_  
"But I've held on for too long; I don't think I've got much more ' _holding on_ ' left in me," Astoria said weakly, and Draco hated how much it was true.

He took the opportunity to remember her like this, her perfume that as a mix of sweetness and honey. The way her hair was knotted from being lay in bed and the way her skin felt under his touch.

"I'll never be truly gone," Astoria whispered before moving from his chest to attempt to look at him, his own eyes casting down to hers. "I'll  _always_  be here."

"You aren't going anywhere Tori," Draco said with strength. "I need you too much."

"I'll just have a word with death then and tell him that you need me too much," her grin illuminating her face, and it was hard for him not to surrender to it—to let it persuade him she was fine.

"You do that."

Astoria nodded. "I will."

"Good."

"Good," she repeated.

Then his eyes softened, and her smile grew, and he wavered. "Tori I love you. So much, and, I can't—"

"There's no such thing as  _can't_ ," she said cutting him off. "There's only try; we can do this. Plus, you're made of so much more than you give yourself credit for."

"Tori—"

"You're so strong and so much braver than you think," Astoria said touching his cheek. "That's why I fell in love with you. We are going to be fine—I'll never leave you."

"You promise?" Tears dancing in his grey eyes, staring down at the blue ones that looked like the ocean.

"I promise," Astoria whispered as her pain showered her cheeks. "I promise that I promise."

* * *

"Greenglass?"

She didn't move. Nor did she look to him.

Draco had stood between the house and the garden, trapped in limbo at the doorway in the hope that she'd come inside and he could warm her by the fire.

"Tori?" He called again, louder in case she had been off in her own world. But no answer.

His steps sounded louder as he moved across the porch, their back door colliding with the frame so loudly it made her jump, and he regretted letting it go so quickly. Walking carefully down the stairs before he seated himself next to her, his arms resting out on his knees as he braced himself before looking at her. Draco turned his head slowly as he felt her head rest on to his shoulder, his eyes travelling down to see her fist wrapped in the fabric of her blanket, covering her mouth as he wrapped an arm around her.

"Do you call me  _Greenglass_  because I'm breakable?" she asked.

Draco's hold on her tightened as he used his other hand to move a stray curl from her face, hoping for a better look at her. "No," he said with a half-smile. "I call you it because it's a twist on your old surname that I abolished with haste. And I know how you hate that I do that—so I continue to do it to annoy you."

"You're too kind."

"I try," Draco said pressing his lips to her head.

The question brewed on the tip of his tongue, wanting and needing to be answered. But it wouldn't roll from his lips; it wouldn't punctuate the calm evening before him and throw his life into disarray. It just rested, waiting, watching.

"I always liked sitting under the stars," she said sighing. "Wondering what is out there, or what's happening on the other side of the world... It was my favourite time when Scorp was fascinated with space."

Draco smiled to himself at the memories of tents in the garden, late-night campouts wrapped in blankets twice their sizes as he showed him the stars and told them of their meanings. Her eyes were widening as if she had never taken Astronomy.

"Promise me that we'll have another night under the stars," she asked. Astoria's head was moving from his shoulder to look at him, her blue crystal eyes twinkling at him as he tried to remain un-expressionless.

"Of course," his fingers running against her jaw. "What's going on Ast—"

Her other hand moved from under the blanket; it clenched shut as she brought it out to him as she unwrapped her fingers from the content inside her palm. His eyes were staring down at the faint white tissue, painted with spots of scarlet that stood ghastly out against her pale skin.

"Tori—"

"Not today," she whispered, closing her fist once more as she settled her head against his shoulder. His eyes were spacing out as he felt his tears prick his eyes.

* * *

He should have made her go inside. That's what he thought each moment after that evening. If he had done so, there might have been more time. More control over the demon killing her insides.

Draco opened their bedroom door, a look on his face that was both intrigued and bemused by the sight in front of him. He wasn't surprised that she didn't lay the deliberate way, or that her long legs were parallel with the wall where the headboard rested but more that she lay there with this smirk on her face as she met his eyes. Her blue eyes twinkled away at him, the candles around the room setting an ambience he wasn't sure she had intended to create, his fingers slipping off his shirt as she watched him the entire time.

"That's not how beds are meant to be laid in," Draco said as he removed his shoes.

Astoria sat up, a look of surprise on her face as she cupped her lips with her fingers. "Really? Oh, sweet  _Merlin_ , what will I do?" Her fingers were dropping to reveal a smirk that even he was envious of as he slowly grinned. "I'm ill—I haven't lost my marbles quite yet."

"I was just making sure."

"You can't return me if that is what you're thinking?" She grinned as he moved over to perch on the bed, his back to her but his eyes on her over his shoulder as he removed his socks. "It's the law. Once you've married a broken wife, you have to keep her until she just... _gives up_."

"Tori," he groaned.

Astoria shrugged. "What? I'm just making you aware of the rules."

"I dislike it when you talk like that," Draco snarled, throwing the socks to the ground beside his bedside table, moving his legs around to lay in a mirror position of her, his head turning to face her as he brushed her hair from his face. "I do not want to return you."

"Good...I'm becoming quite fond of you."

Draco closed his eyes as he grinned, opening them to see her smiling wickedly at him as her hand moved to stroke his cheek. Her fingers a temperature that wasn't human, like ice, was touching his cheek rather than her usually warmer fingers. He didn't want to look alarmed, for so long she had kept the true extent of her illness from him and had been so afraid when she shared it.

"It's not all the time. I'm just weak, I get ill, I can't shake it off as quick, and it makes me tired, drained and that jazz."

She smiled softly, beautifully, but full of pain. "I am just warning you. I am not a woman that's going to be holding you when you're seventy and can't wipe your backside. I'm the short time kind of woman you marry. I don't want you to fall head over heels for me and then walk the Earth as a dementor when I've gone...I am highly  _captivating_. I want to make sure you're aware."

Draco sniggered. "Overly confident today, aren't you?"

"I think I need to be—confidence is attractive. Snot is not."

She was definitely attractive—she always had been, snot or not. There was a fire inside of her that he wanted around him at all times. An uplifting sense of purpose that drove him to become a better person, to try more, to do more. He despised it heavily when she was ill because he felt as though he couldn't do anything to help her—when all she did was help him.

"You're looking at me strangely."

"I thought you'd be used to this expression Greenglass, I tend to look at you like this a lot," Draco said as he turned to face their ceiling.

Astoria sniggered. "Because I'm beautiful and witty?"

"No," Draco said with a laugh. "Because you are out of this world bonkers."

Her earthly laugh spread around the room, the flames in the candles flickering as if she altered their movement. Draco felt her hand move into his, a warmth spreading through him as she weaved her fingers with his. Their palms pressed together as they stared at the nothingness that was their ceiling. Questions beginning to pop up in his mind—ones he was afraid to ask and ones that seemed to be created by her because they were too weird to speak of. His eyes were occasionally moving to check on her, her eyes firmly on the ceiling as well. A grin on her lips as her long eyelashes swept away the sleep.

"Are you scared?"

"Of being ill?" Astoria asked, and Draco nodded slightly against the bed, turning his head to face her. "I'm not at death's door quite yet, just a  _common_  cold."

"You know what I mean, Tori..."

Draco heard her sigh, her face paling as he made sure not to react. "The not knowing frightens me more than the outcome. But, if I knew I think it would drive me to insanity." His eyes still on her as Astoria sighed louder, "I'm scared of leaving  _us_  behind; I'm afraid of leaving you."

"You'll never leave me."

Her smile slowly grew before she laughed. "If you say something obscenely cheesy like  _'you'll always be right here_ '," her finger prodding his chest, "then I will divorce you myself."

"No," Draco smirked although blushed at his thoughts of such. "I just won't let you."

"Ah," she grinned. "The  _old_  fighting death trick."

"I can't live without you..." he murmured as her expression dropped. "I need you."

Her fingers tightened around his as he saw tears filling her eyes before she turned to face the ceiling. Astoria's eyelashes were blinking furiously to bat them away as she tried to place a cocky grin on her lips. "Good job that you aren't getting rid of me yet then isn't it... it's a cold. I've felt worse."

* * *

"I'm not leaving you, I promise, Mum is always here," Astoria said to their son, pointing to his heart. "I'll be waving you off this year, all set for your third year," his son's hand wrapped around hers as he tried to hold it together. "I'm so proud of you Scorpy, my little prince."

"I love you to mum," Scorpius murmured.

Narcissa was coming to take him while he sat with her, reading her poetry, ruining soul forever as he sang her favourites. He knew there was little time left, and Draco wanted to talk her round from making promises to their son—but he knew there was no other way. Astoria was falling apart, her body betraying her and she didn't have the fight in her to argue with him.

"Draco," Astoria whispered after a while, closing the book on where they got to—and he hoped she was just sick of his voice.

"Yes, love?"

"I'm getting tired," she managed to whisper, a flash of her soft smile as he nodded. "We can finish it tomorrow can't we?"

"Of course dear," Draco replied gently, kissing her hand as he held it. "You are a good man; you need to believe that...because you are," she said as she raised his hand to her lips. "You make me so happy, you've always made me so happy."

"Tori..."

"Draco," Astoria said with almost a smirk worthy of her last name. "Do not worry as much; I'll see you when I've had a few hours sleep. Now, do me a favour, sing me my favourite."

Draco laughed. "At last my love has come along. My lonely days are over, and life is like a song, oh yeah—"

"Ugh," Astoria mumbled as she got herself comfortable. "You sound worse than a cat."

"Shut up, Greenglass. I am trying—"

Astoria smiled. "Try harder, Malfoy, impress me."

Draco bit down on his lip, fighting the tears from pouring—never having cried so much as he had done recently. "I love you, Greenglass."

"I love you, but," she grinned, "I'll love you more, if you sing my song."

Chuckling, Draco nodded. " _At last the skies above are blue; My heart was wrapped up clover the night I looked at you."_ He looked over, watching her whole face smiling as her eyes began to close. " _I found a dream that I could speak to; A dream that I can call my own."_ Astoria's eyelashes were fluttering, her lips parting as she attempted to sing along with him. " _I found a thrill to press my cheek to; A thrill I've never known, oh yeah and you smiled, you smiled oh and then the spell was cast."_

Draco eyes moved to the photo frame of them on the bedside table—the night they had danced in Paris, the night Scorpius was conceived. Smiling, he swallowed back the pain in his chest, watching her eyes remained closed, her lips unmoving. " _And here we are in Heaven; For you are mine at last_ …"

And her eyes didn't open again.

* * *

**oOo**


	21. Et Postquam Semper - Part Two

**Et Postquam Semper  
Part Two**

* * *

His chest was heaving.

Everything felt painful, tight, and Draco was sure he was going to collapse. Tears were painting his cheeks, his throat burning as he threw a glassful of whisky down his throat—needing something to numb him.

The once bare walls were covered in the contents of the fridge—glass bottles showered across the marble floor the liquid inside splashed against the skirting boards; shredded hospital letters and other papers covering the worktops—a photo of them from the fridge was the only untouched item on the worktop.

Sinking to the ground, surrendering to the pain in his bones from standing, Draco crumbled into a heap—the bottle never leaving his hand, the glass left behind next to the photograph. He didn't feel an ounce of pain when he landed—and he hoped it was the liquor rather than the grief.

"What in Merlin's  _hairy ballsack_ —"

Draco looked up, trying to see through the haze of tears, noticing Blaise stood in the doorway of the kitchen. He wanted to feel relief at seeing someone, but he couldn't—emptiness was all that was inside of Draco, and he hated it. He hated everything.

Moving his hand up his face, Draco buried himself in his palm, letting the sobs ring out and the tears fall. He felt them rain down, painting his cheeks in sadness and grief—the rivers running to his hollow chest, everything inside of him having crumbled away. Drac felt close to imploding, everything around him needing and asking to be broken—because everything reminded him of her, and she had gone.

She had left him—and Draco knew Astoria hadn't wanted too. The fire in his chest ignited, remembering her parting words, feeling the chill in the air when Draco realised she had passed, and he bent over onto his hands and knees, the bottle falling over in his movements. The crack sounded before Draco realised he had driven his fist into the marble floor, his fingers having shattered under the pressure and speed—similar to how his heart had felt when the Healer had called her time of death.

Remembering her voice, he raised his fist again—

"Malfoy no!"

Feeling his arm being held back by Blaise, the two of them kneeling in the destruction of his pain and the whisky that was draining from the bottle.

"Stand up for me, come on mate. Please...stand up for me," Blaise spoke, but it sounded far away—like Draco was unable to reach him. "That's it, stand up."

He felt Blaise tug him to his feet, and each pace Draco took he felt Astoria's eyes on him—as though she was there in their house. He'd look up, catch a photo and a glimpse of her smile, and it would hurt all over again—not that it had eased immensely from the kitchen  _fiasco_.

Draco felt himself being forced into the armchair, finding himself in  _their_  living room—none of the rooms knowing they'd never see her again. Draco not even knowing he wouldn't—his brain not having registered that she had gone, left, vanished. His eyes moved, fixing on their family photo from the morning of Scorpius' first time on Platform 9 ¾, Astoria's laugh sounding throughout the room that only he could hear.

"Drink this," Blaise ordered, thrusting a glass into his hand—seating himself down on the arm of the sofa near him. Feeling Blaise's eyes on him was the only reason Draco slung the liquid down his throat—not even flinching at the bitterness of it. "I'm sorry for your—"

"Don't," Draco said sternly. " _Please_."

Draco dropped his eyes, focusing on the pattern on the carpet—noticing the spot where her heel had gotten stuck when she had been sure she could dance.

" _I can dance, trust me…" she exclaimed, twirling around the room, her dinner dress spinning around her as she smiled singing the words to him as she always did before she tripped, losing her heel and falling into his arms. "I told you, look, I can kinda dance."_

" _Only if I'm there to catch you."_

_Astoria moved in his arms, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "You love to catch me."_

Touching the side of his jaw, just where her kiss had been placed many moons ago, Blaise called him out of his thoughts. "Hm, what?"

Blaise sighed. "Where's Scorpius?"

Draco stared blankly, and for a moment he wasn't even sure. Panic began to creep in, hoping his son wasn't here, not wanting him to see what he had done to their kitchen. Draco had seen what misery had done to his father, and the way he had looked at him—he didn't want that for Scorpius.

And then he remembered, like a Lumos being lit. "Mother took him. He, he knows, but he wasn't..." Draco struggled to swallow, his eyes stinging. "He wasn't there when she went."

Silence filled the room, and Draco wanted to ask Blaise to leave—needing to be alone—but his friend spoke first. "Do you want me to sort the kitchen —"

"No!" he whispered, his head shaking furiously. "Leave it,  _okay_ , just leave it, leave everything do not touch—I don't want you to move—"

"Malfoy? —"

"I said  _leave_  it!" He snapped, although he hadn't meant to. "I just want a minute with her, here, and if you touch—if you move—"

Blaise stood, placing a comforting hand on Draco's shoulder. "I get it. I'm sorry."

_Me too,_  Draco thought—wishing he could feel Blaise's hand.

_His mouth fell open, his face scrunching up as he felt the pressure build. His eyes were attempting to focus, to bring himself back to the present and not unravel. He placed his hand on the wall beside him, images conjuring in his mind of her smile, her innocent look._

" _Do not pull that face, Greenglass."_

_"Why?" she pouted as she placed her chin on her palms in the kitchen, the room caked in powder, the counter covered in burnt cookies._

_"It makes it increasingly harder to shout at you for this mess."_

Blaise cleared his throat, his hand taking the glass from his hands. "Malfoy?" Blaise asked as Draco fell back into the present, his eyes glazing over. "You want another drink?"

"Um...No," Draco mumbled, hearing heels on the staircase—wondering if he had lost his mind.

_"Love me forever," Astoria cooed into his ear, her cocktail dress pooling to her feet as she stared up at him with beckoning eyes. "Love me without thought."_

_"I don't know another way," Draco said as he lifted her off her feet, wrapping her legs around him. "I will love you all night, especially with Scorpius out, the Floo closed, and this, fucking, dress—"_

" _Make me yours."_

_Draco bit down on her collarbone. "You're mine, Greengrass."_

Looking up, meeting dark brown eyes and a man's face—when all he wanted was hers. Draco shook his head, beginning to feel another onset of frustrated tears needing to explode out of him. The pain, it was crushing him—weighing him down.

"I—" Choking back the tears that were quickly forming; Draco's throat tightening around the words he wished to scream, as it all began to crumble, and weaken him. "—I've lost her—her...She's— _she's—gone, Blaise._ "

Blaise's arms wrapped around him before he even had a chance to fall out of the chair, Blaise capturing him, falling to his own knees to hold Draco.

"She's gone, my happiness, everything is gone," Draco repeated in a spout of tears and pain, "I've lost her. I've lost my love. My..My Princess...Greenglass...she's —"

"I know," Blaise said, as he held him up, rubbing his back as he urged air to enter Draco's lungs. "Breathe for me, please—"

Draco was holding on to him just as tightly—fearing if he let go, Draco would lose himself entirely. "What—what am I—what do I do?"

"I don't know mate, but I'll be here. I promise," Blaise reassured. "And Pansy, and Nott, and...We are  _all here_ for you."

* * *

Draco could recall the moment he re-fell in love with his wife at the drop of a spell. The first time had crept upon him, never noticing really that he suddenly had fallen for the woman—but having spoken it immediately in the hospital room. He also had never fallen out of love with her, but a dramatic overthrow of feelings came a few years into their marriage.

It wasn't,  _as most would believe_ , the day his wife gave birth to their son. Their first and only child. Their prince. Although extraordinary due to the difficulties they had faced, Draco suspected it should have been.

But the day was, in fact, a few months later, on one of the first night that their son slept in his own room, waking in a fit of screams due to teething. The crying from his son's tiny lungs had broken his heart, and he could see it visibly broke Astoria's. Draco tried countless things to soothe Scorpius, but they were all to no avail. His wife—although shattered from being with him throughout the day—appeared in the doorway. Taking Scorpius in her arms as she shooed Draco from the room so he could sleep.

It was mere moments when the crying stopped, and Draco, who was utterly intrigued as to how, appeared at the door as he heard her sing to him. Her voice carrying through the room, out down the corridor, and Draco swore on his life that even the house got a bit brighter.

It was a beauty he had  _never_  witnessed. Astoria's words were coming from somewhere so deep in her, that it immediately settled the red-faced baby—the formerly unhappy baby. It was as though Astoria soothed all of Scorpius woes immediately—as if right there in the same moment his son fell over heels in love with her, just as he had, and he forgot entirely about his sore gums.

Draco would never know that it was  _that_  moment that the  _mother-son_  relationship was sealed for life. Astoria, his beautiful wife, had made him calm not just in that time, but countless others from that point onwards. It had even eased himself with her voice, as he looked at her through the crack of the door—regretting his jealousy and anger that he couldn't soothe his son himself.

Draco listened to her voice most evenings as their son became dependant on the song before bed, it was only ever in the solitude of Scorpius' bedroom, only from her to him. He was always listening on from the hallway in silence, in need of the song for himself—for her, just as much as their son did. The house had also become reliant on her singing.

It was only as Scorpius grew older that his son would plead for a song and she would sing it softly into his ear—her eyes watching Draco as he tried to listen. It happened even in the company of others, but it would still be solely for their son. Draco found himself privately smiling to himself, never wanting to bring much attention to it. Not because he didn't want too—because he did desperately—but he knew how easily embarrassed his wife was. She was private, she never wished for a lot of attention on herself, and he found that her most endearing quality. Something he later watched his son gain as he became a toddler and then grew into a child.

It wasn't even a struggle as to what to get her when their tenth wedding anniversary came. Draco surprised her with a giant grand piano—he was sure she had ever looked so happy, not since their son was born. Draco proudly smiled as he saw in her eyes how much she had wanted it, without so much as ushering a word. It was in that unspoken moment, Draco realised that Astoria had always known about him listening in on her singing—all those times he thought he had been as silent as a mouse, she had known.

It didn't surprise him when she gently sat on the bench behind the piano, her fingers grazing the keys as she opened her lips, and the sound blessed his ears. Astoria too was gifted in so much more than he was aware of, and that as she began to sing he held his arms as he took her all in.

Listening to her sing— _just for him, his own song_. And Draco was sure he fell in love all over again.

"Dad!" Draco turned around, meeting his son staring at him questionably. Suddenly ashamed of the glass in his hand as he fingered it before placing it down. "I've been calling you for...what are you  _doing_  with Mum's piano?"

Draco brushed his fingers over the wooden top. "I don't...know how I got in here."

He turned around facing the worried boy, unsure of what exactly he should do— _say_ , even. Astoria had always known what to do—she'd have made some joke because that's what she always did when things were tense. Except, there was no joke to joke about. Nothing felt funny; nothing felt joyous

Their family has broken apart; he was broken.

"I can play," Scorpius said in a high-pitched voice.

Draco's frown must have been apparent as Scorpius placed his hands in his trousers, a poised look on his face that reminded him so much of her that it hurt. It pained.

"She taught me, to play...said that it would be a good present for you, but...she was so poorly, I," Scorpius broke off, dipping his head slightly as Draco watched the tears fill in his son's eyes. The reaction to reach out and hold him grew in each second neither of them moved, but he was scared—scared of rejection, scared of not being enough. "I can play if you want me too..."

Draco's own eyes filled at that, his teeth nibbling at his lower lip as he slowly nodded. His son half-smiling before moving around the large object, pulling out the stool, as his fingers grazed the top of the piano. He seemed nervous—and Scorpius never looked nervous.

"Scorp—"

"I'm..." he looked up at him, pale-faced and worried. "I'm okay Dad, I guess...I, I just, I miss her."

And then it felt right—in several strides, Draco's arms were wrapped around his son. The two of them holding one another tightly in the hope it would hurt a little less when they let go.

Draco sighed into his son's head. "I  _miss_  her too, Scorp—more than you think."

"We'll be  _okay_  though, Dad," Scorpius said, proudly.

"I know," Draco whispered back, his eyes fixed on the piano. "Your Mum made sure of that."

The two of them turning their heads, catching the assortment of photos on the top of the piano—Draco had never noticed them before. His eyes were eyeing each one, a picture from every year they had been together—and it was perfect to see.

* * *

Draco hadn't held back, bursting in through the Potter's front door as he snarled when he met the green eyes upon him. "You can't do this Potter—"

Potter stood tall, his face full of lines and age. "And why is that, Malfoy? Because I believe I have every right—my son, my business."

Draco grated his teeth, trying to count to five—a coping method when he felt the need to hex someone. "They  _need_  one another."

"I don't think my son does," Potter said straightening his back. "My son does not need a troublesome boy in his life—not when his education is on the line, not when—"

He had pulled out his wand before he allowed Potter to finish the sentence, the vein in his temple throbbing with anger. "Finish that sentence Potter; I  _fucking_  dare you." The dark-haired wizard looked visibly shocked before his expression faded to a glare. "My son...he needs Albus. They're  _friends_ ; they need one another! You had friends, Potter; you  _relied_  on them. You'd be dead without them—"

"My son would be  _dead,_  if your son hadn't been messing with things he didn't understand. Without supervision—"

Growling under his breath, Draco glared. "And Scorpius has been spoken too about that—"

"—He needs more than speaking to, he blew up a Potions classroom—"

"HOW I DISCIPLINE MY CHILD IS MY BUSINESS," Draco bellowed.

Potter, who seemed so far from the man he had once drunk with—time having been so cruel to their friendship once more. He regretted, of course Draco did, but he wanted the best for Scorpius—he had little time for friends.

" _PRECISELY_! Albus is my son —"

Draco was about to respond when he stopped, remembering Astoria's softness—and how much she hated an unnecessary argument. Letting the former get the better of him, Draco sighed and looked straight into the eyes of his former friend. He saw the same lost expression in them—the two of them just struggling their way through the mess that was being a parent.

"Potter," Draco said a lot calmer, as Potter paused. "Scorpius needs your son. I–I—"

"What?" Potter snarled.

"Let him finish Harry," a voice said behind as the two men turned to see Pansy stood there, her hair much longer than Draco remembered. Her face pale, but attempting to smile at the two of them.

Draco looked down from meeting her eyes as he softly sighed before meeting Potter's. "I can't talk to him. I  _can't_  help him." Swallowing back most of his pride, Draco put his wand away. "He lost his  _mother_ , Potter. There was nothing I could do for my wife," tears building in his eyes. " _Nothing_  I could do to protect my  _fourteen-year-old son_  from it all, and there's nothing I can say now to make it any easier."

Draco's fingers rubbed together as he avoided both their eyes, only in the corner of his vision noticing Pansy's hold on Harry's arm.

"If you take him away from Scorpius...he hasn't got anyone, Potter," Draco half pleaded, anger thrusting the tear down his cheek. "Astoria was so ill; I couldn't leave the house—I couldn't leave her, if I left, I worried she'd be dead when I returned. The children, they were good friends when they were little—when Weasley and Granger came round. When you helped me build a treehouse for the boys. He lost all of those because I was afraid and his mother wasn't strong enough—and then his friends came from books, and comics, and in his head...don't punish him for my fears, okay? Because...he's all I've got!"

Potter looked to Pansy before slowly turning to face him. "He has you—"

Draco snorted. "Yeah...the man who would sell his left arm for one more minute with his deceased wife. The same man who barely can hold himself together. I'd give up anything for that boy; he's all I live for. And he's barely functioning without  _Albus_."

* * *

Draco had always known that if he were ever to become a father, he would not become the same as his own. In so many cases his Father had been great, he had enjoyed fond memories with him, and at times he would have had no complaints. But then, when the dust settled, the realisation dawned on him that for so much of his life he had been lied to. Draco was nervous about doing the same to his own child—scared the entire time he would do something wrong. He doted on Astoria, more than he cared to admit and while he watched her find being a parent easy, Draco didn't.

As his son got older, it became easier. He was a boy, who would become a man—and Draco knew they would have more in common. But now, as Scorpius sat opposite him, a thousand questions ran through his mind—and Draco didn't feel sure that he'd handle it right.

Even in an invisible form, he was sure Astoria would kick his shins if he upset Scorpius—and that thought haunted Draco every single day. It had been a favourite past time of hers when they had company, if he screwed a conversation up, she would kick him in the shins.

The one thing he knew he would for sure be kicked for was if he upset Scorpius in regards to his first love. Astoria, always the woman with secrets, had spoken of a day that would come before Draco's eyes, and he had to be kind. Draco, for an unknown reason, was sure this was the moment.

_"Love him, unconditionally. Even when it's hard to do so," Astoria said as he tried to remain level-headed. "He's not—he's not like you, or your father. He's...softer, kinder, delicate, and he loves differently–"_

_"Tori?"_

_"Just promise me, that you'll stand by him...even when he makes choices that you don't understand," Astoria said as she held his hand._

_"Do you wish to tell me what you're harping on about?"_

_"No, a mother's intuition is a gift," she smiled gently._

The truth was that Draco was honestly fine with whoever his son chose to love, he happened to quite like the influence that Albus had on him. He was polite and engaging. Draco had also liked Rose when Scorpius had taken a fancy to her—and seeing her mother wasn't unpleasant.

It gave him the chance to learn that since he had quit the Ministry, that Granger had divorced Weasley, and she was raising their children with his support. It was also the same night that Draco realised precisely what Astoria had meant—Scorpius didn't love girls the same as he did, or his father.

He had no idea why he went around to the Nott-Zabini household; their twin adopted children in the midst of teething. Draco needed advice, and what he ended up getting were an earful and a crying child. Potter had of course been zero help, Pansy who was basking in Potter's shocked attitude that Albus could  _possibly_ like Scorpius back—Pansy was adamant he did and got excited that their children would marry.

The only person who was helpful was  _surprisingly_  Weasley. He worked in the pub that used to be his brother's and helped in the joke shop—so Draco hadn't had high expectations. But he pulled through, telling Draco exactly what he needed to hear. The two drank, they reminisced, and for the first time—they officially buried the past. It was nice, the former group of them coming together in their mismatched, single, married, and parental ways—they had all grown up so much.

"How was school?" Draco broached.

"Fine."

Sighing before attempting again, Draco smiled. "You enjoying your subjects?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"No reason," Draco said with a small smirk. "Just making small talk with my son."

"You never make small talk; you hate small talk...I was sure it was on your ' _Hated Twenty Eight_ ' list of things that you can't possibly stand about communication with others. Is there something wrong? Oh, Merlin, Aunt Daphne is here, isn't she? Couldn't you have said on the way here? Given me chance to prepare, Merlin...she's going to want to kiss me; she's irritable Dad, why, oh Merlin why!—"

His laugh emerged slowly silencing his son's persistent worries as he looked at him with a frown. "Your Aunt is not coming until  _Christmas Day,_  even then your just pencilled into her diary as she's off to France to spend time with some family, or something" the two Malfoy's rolling their eyes at Daphne's flighty visit. "I solely wished to talk to you, believe it or not. I do miss not having you here."

"You read anything good recently?" Draco asked as she placed a forkful in his mouth.

Scorpius frowned, his eyes looking around the room suspiciously. "I've been a bit busy with N.E.W.T preparation."

"You have until next year," Draco grinned. "You sure you haven't been studying too much  _biology_?"

Scorpius frowned. "I like to be on top of things; you sound almost like Al—oh," Scorpius quietening immediately as Draco looked up from his food.

The air felt awkward, and Draco couldn't help but bask in it for a second—hoping ghost Astoria wouldn't mind.

Taking his glass to his lips. "I'm proud that you're making a  _headstart_  on things."

"Dad..."

"I'm just saying," Draco mused. "Your Mum would be in hysterics if she was here. She handles these things better."

Scorpius softly smiled. "Things?"

"You know, you could have just invited Albus here...tonight I mean. You don't have to sit through a dinner with me before you feel you can ask," Draco kept his eyes on his meal. It was a small offer to him, but one he knew would take the awkwardness out of the conversation.

"I know Mum use to say that you were uncool. But, I think she may have been wrong about that."

Draco smiled softly, placing his fork down. "Your Mum made me cool. Trust me. Scorp?" The two grey eyes were meeting, "I just want to say...I'm happy,  _if you're happy._ " Looking up at the ceiling, just in case she happened to be looking down, giving her a  _'see I can play nice too_ ' smirk.

"Thank you, Dad," Scorpius smiled into his plate, the two not wishing to give much eye contact. "How did you...guess?"

Draco softly placed his fork down once more, straightening out the mat his plate was on as he looked up and met his son's eye. "Even I am not oblivious or blind to love, Scorpius. Even if most of the time I am entirely oblivious about a lot of things."

Scorpius had managed another few moments before he placed his cutlery down and Draco only nodded as his son darted for the fireplace. His head still shaking with a smirk as he placed his own down beside it, looking directly at the place where she would use to sit. "I think I did well."

He imagined her smile, the way it lit the entire room up similar to their sons. Her shoulders shrugging as she rested her chin on her hand, " _Meh_ ," he would have expected her to say, never one to be overly impressed by him. "Caught on then have you?" She'd say.

"You, Greengrass are a menace," he'd have said.

"You love it."

"That I do," he would have whispered as he looked at his son with a prideful smile, taking her hand—fuck he wished she was here.

* * *

The grass was sprinkled with rose petals, lines of white wooden chairs on the lawn of his garden. The sun was bidding its goodbyes to the day, the clouds above lined with the soft pink sky. His fingers traced the white wooden arch with its entangled roses and tulips under the old silver birch tree, that was at the end of their garden.

Memories of seeing her sat underneath it, usually nursing a book and a steaming cup of tea. Her swollen pregnant stomach to baby Scorpius lay across her legs. To his head resting on her leg, her hand running through his blonde locks. To him sat next to her as she read. To him reading to her.

Small, twinkling lights were hanging from the branches lighting the dusk evening. Jars of white flames lining a makeshift aisle between the chairs. The jars reminding him of the lights Astoria use to make when she read under the tree in the late Summer evenings.

Draco's hand moved his hand down to the pocket of his robes, his eyes taking all of it in as he felt the warmth spread alongside him. His other hand hung dormant against him.

"You took your time," Draco whispered to the world.

He sighed before smirking to himself, his fingers turning his ring around on his finger.

"I can't believe I am here," he said as he licked his lips, "without you."

Tightness building in his chest as he ran his print over the texture of the ring, closing his eyes as he imagined her. Hair falling down her back, her big blue eyes twinkling as a faint blue dress emphasising her waist and fell elegantly to the floor.

"He's getting married Tori...our little boy. You—" his throat closing as he swallowed, opening his eyes to look at the tree. "He's even more surprised than you told me he'd be. He's...breathtaking. And," a laugh escaping his lips. "He got your taste in men. Handsome, comical, witty, you know the rest. But, the boy's great. Albus that is...he's right for Scorp. He doesn't let him eat his weight in sugar, so, it's a good start..."

Draco moved his leg out to brush the grass with his shoe as he adjusted his weight.

"I'm giving him away," Draco said as he looked at the carved heart in the bark. "I hope you don't mind; he asked me tonight...after they got engaged I thought...It was a surprise.."

He grimaced as he softly winked at the tree.

"I was bracing for the shin bashing if you couldn't tell," he whispered as he smiled. "Fuck. I miss you.. days like these, they just make it so much harder. Its been years; it never gets easier. Not even with your matchmaking from the grave."

A gust of wind blew past his face as a single tear fell from his eye.

"I assume that was you are saying that right back at me," the tree overhead swaying in the breeze as he smiled at the tree. "Stay with me...Okay,  _Greenglass_? I need you with me today." He waited a few seconds. "I know, I know;  _I'm needy._.." he laughed. "But, just do it okay?"

The breeze softened as he nodded softly, taking two steps backwards not wishing to break eye contact with the tree until he felt arms around him. For a moment Draco froze, unsure precisely what to do until he smelt the fresh vanilla and honey and he relaxed into her touch.

"I'm here," Hermione whispered. "Today is not about us; it is about you two, and your son."

Draco tilted his head, looking at her as he let her hold him. "She always liked you," his hand finding hers as he held it tightly before raising it to his lips. "Always thought there was more to us than enemies. Odd, wasn't she."

Hermione slowly smiled as she kissed his cheek, "Astoria was always intuitive."

He sighed, heavy and pained. "I love you, I do—"

"But you'll always love her more, and will have always loved her first," Hermione finished, and Draco nodded, hiding his face as a tear slipped down his cheek. "It's a shame,  _Whom The Gods Love, Die Young._ " Draco looked up, frowning as Hermione smiled. "It's the original version of God picks the prettiest flowers, only ever taking the best."

Draco nodded, softly smiling. "She was the best," he whispered, feeling the wind brush against him as he glared at the tree with a smirk. "Astoria wants me to tell you that you're pretty good yourself," his eyes meeting Hermione's, "and she's glad it's you who stands beside me now."

* * *

**\- Fin -**

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr: [JosieMoone](http://josiemoone.tumblr.com/)


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